


Never Enough

by ireallyloveicecream



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha! Viktor, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, First time doing this forgive me, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, Love Wins, M/M, Oh Yuuri why do you do this to yourself, Omega! Yuuri, POV Alternating, Rivalry, Sexual Content, Soulmates au?, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Viktor gets a backstory too, Viktor spelt with K, Viktor was an asshole, but its rated M so i'd figure you'd know, gonna sound like shit, its like playing two of my favourite songs at once, lots of swearing, two of my favourite AUs hueheuhue, whats a rivalry au without angry sex amirite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:18:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ireallyloveicecream/pseuds/ireallyloveicecream
Summary: Skating like Viktor was no longer the ultimate goal. It was a milestone that looked far away, but still reachable, and he’ll pass it and move on to the next. If he worked hard, worked harder.All Katsuki Yuuri would ever wish to the stars was to skate on the same ice as rising star Viktor Nikforov.But when his dream comes true and they meet, his awe for him mutates into a cut-throat motivation for retaliation, sending the two of them into a rivalry that should've burned into the end of their skating careers.Despite that, as they strengthen their vows and grit their teeth, their warped hatred for each other turns into something else both of them would not anticipate.(Chapter 6 is not an actual chapter)





	1. My heart, My soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyy merry christmas guys (at least in my area its turning midnight) 
> 
> and happy birthday darling Viktor ;) 
> 
> its my first multi-chapter attempt for this fandom, as well as something that isn't fantasy or story telling related. 
> 
> oh my god i'm still stuck in my writer's rust, terribly sorry for any grammar mistakes because i have not written anything longer than a 400 word lab report until lately when YOI destroyed my life but also added 10 years to my lifespan (i'm never watching another anime my standards are too high now)
> 
> SOME IMPORTANT THINGS TO LOOK OUT FOR BEFORE YOU READ: 
> 
> I've changed the age gap between Yuuri and Viktor to two years, which means Yuuko is the same age as Viktor now. Not a very big deal, but don't be confused when they participate in the same Junior Grand Prix Finals. 
> 
> also I started the story from the second chapter so when I went back to the starting point I was reaaallly stuck so forgive me if this sounded too weird

_12, 14._

 

“Yuuri, look, he’s so pretty!” Yuuko’s voice sang into his ears, ushering a blush into his cheeks.  He looked up, watching the redhead gushing in front of the burry screen of colours in the back office of his hometown’s ice rink. A thin layer of static casted a weak light across the dark room, the only source of illumination at this ungodly hour. 

They were supposed to be in bed hours ago. Takeshi’s family had chased them out of the rink at the strike of midnight, only to have both of them steal the keys and sneak back in for another practice session until the Junior Grand Prix came on. It had been a ceremonious ritual ever since Yuuri was six to sit in front of the ancient television of hazy colours with his two years senior Yuuko, to ooh and aah as beautiful figures slide across the ice, letting the stars dance in their eyes and dreams cloud their imaginations of how it was like to be grace thousands of people’s attention on ice. 

That year, they had been expecting someone. 

A boy stood in the centre of the skating rink, the lights of the stadium dancing in his azure irises. His silver locks swept to his shoulders, veiling half of his face in a gentle manner, his lean body wrapped in a hypnotising gradient of turquoise and white, glittering in diamonds that sparkled like the sea. 

Viktor Nikiforov was his name. 

They first knew him at the European Championships two years ago, when Yuuko had showed him a clip of Viktor's debut skating at the age of twelve, the same age as Yuuri that time. He watched till the end in rapt attention, never looking away from the screen and when the screen went blank he was begging for more.  

Ever since then the pair have been digging through the news to see more of his feats, sneaking into the town’s only cyber web cafe to print out more of his photos in other ISU competitions, watching the videos of his previous competitions again and again. The European Championships, something that was always broadcasted live in the middle of the night had became part of the ritual every year, just to see Viktor perform. The routines don’t change until the season passes, but all three times per year Yuuri felt like it was watching at him for the first time all over again. 

For Yuuko it was out of pure adulation, the addictive feel of breathlessness as she watches him glide on the ice, his body displaying an art portraying the music in a blend so impossibly compatible it makes her squeal and sob every time she sees it. 

For Yuuri it was something slightly different.

The song of the violins entered, a steady shrill. The Russian lifted his hands in the start of his routine, a tender caress of the air as if he was touching the most fragile thing in the world. 

Then he danced.

Yuuri has seen many famous skaters from the senior division charming the audience with amazing talents, but Viktor was different. He danced as if he was born on ice, learnt to skate before knowing how to even talk. 

When he moved it's as if his body was made out of water, the fluctuating speed of his movements interpreting a story a thousand words could not express. It correlated so perfectly with the soul of the song Yuuri’s heart pained in the desperate voice of the man in the music, lifted when the man’s voice turned into happiness. Every jump he made was with perfect delay, perfect tempo, immaculate and plausible. 

It was as if the song was made to fit the choreography, made to fit him. 

His facial expressions hadn’t betrayed a single second of the performance. His eyes were semi closed, his pale skin seemingly glowing under the spotlight, innocent porcelain that were his facial features contorting slightly into one of sadness. 

As the violins dragged through and the piano keys raged, the boy descends from one last jump to the thunderous cheer of the audience, spinning around lightly before bending into a bow. 

The last of the music faded into a standing ovation, leaving the redhead and the brunette staring at the screen as bouquets were thrown onto the ice, a smile dancing into the Russian boy’s lips. Although that was the short skate, it felt all too brief to Yuuri. He recalled the awe encapsulating his breath, his heart ready to be taken before the sensation disappeared altogether, leaving him back in the cruel arms of reality. 

Yuuko was already on the floor, her eyes hazy with tears. “Beautiful,” She whispered. “I can’t believe I’m the same age as him. He’s too good to be in junior division.” 

Yuuri silently agreed, hearing the stadium cheer again as the commentator announced Viktor Nikiforov’s score, breaking a world record. 

Sure, he couldn't take his eyes off when Viktor performed, but it wasn't just admiration. It was the want to climb up to the same place as Viktor was, to be acknowledged and respected by him as an equal. 

_I want to skate like him._

_I will skate like him._

 

*

 

"Yuuuuri!" 

The Japanese tilted his head upwards to see his friend bounce towards him, a letter in hand, a bulky boy following suit. They were in the skating rink again, except that Yuuri was the only one skipping extracurricular class today. To his defence it was a gardening club, something Yuuri was forced to join since there was nothing that appeased him and it was compulsory to join at least one club. Not that they actually do anything in it anyways. 

Yuuko slammed the letter onto the fence with unnecessary force, but her glowing magenta orbs were telling him there was something important within. "The principal wanted me to give you this." 

Yuuri froze as the colour left his face. "Is it about me skipping that gardening club?" 

"I hope so." He heard Takeshi grunt as he crossed his chubby arms. Yuuko punched him on the shoulder.

Yuuri didn't say anything else, shivering as he opened the letter to pull out the message beneath. 

Silence reigned for two seconds. 

"What does it say?" Yuuko leaned over the fence at an angle so alarming Yuuri was afraid she might fall onto the ice. 

"It's from the state government," Yuuri murmured, his eyes unbelieving. "They want me to participate in the Japan Juniors Championship." 

Yuuko screeched in an octave that could shatter glass, slamming her fists on the fence again. Takeshi grumbled. "YOU SHOULD TOTALLY SIGN UP! THIS IS A OPPORTUNITY OF A LIFETIME, YUURI!" 

Yuuri knew.

He had participated in countless local and interstate competitions before. At first he was a nervous wreck, flubbing even the simplest single toe loop in front of the audience. Eventually as he warmed up to the feeling of everyone watching with Yuuko ever present in his competitions, his public performances flourished, sweeping up so many gold medals that Yuuri's parents had to clear out a room just to shelve them up.

It was only a matter of time before the government took notice of his ability, much to Yuuri's denial. 

"I'll have to become a professional." He delivered his thoughts out loud softly. At first thought that sounded like the chorus of heaven to his ears. The impeccable feeling when Yuuri feels the music guiding his limbs across the ice, the frictionless surface that allowed him to move around just by shifting his body weight had made him more than smitten with this hobby.

If he could, he would want to do it for the rest of his life, and the enrolment form behind the letter was his ticket. 

There was only one problem. 

"I don't think your parents would allow that." Takeshi said. 

"Takeshi-kun!" Yuuko chastised her classmate. "Don't be like that! Yuuri would definitely be able to go!" 

Yuuri gulped, crumpling the letter in his hands. 

Takeshi was right. The tourism rate in Hasetsu had been crumbling in the near ages, shutting down nearly every onsen in town except for his parent's. Even with the killing of competition their business was still bleak, relying on the money of the school and town council to get Yuuri around the country for contests. Despite the fact that he does get money out of prizes, it was barely enough to cover the costs of him trying to maintain his hobby, causing him to cry in his room in guilt countless of times. 

They didn't really have any other family members nearby, so the only two people his parents could pass the onsen to was Mari and Yuuri. 

If he ever became professional, not only he had to throw away his school life and abandon his parents business, he'd have to waste more money and time hiring someone good to coach him. Especially then, as Yuuri's parents slowly called him out from his room to slowly teach him the ropes, it was being more apparent that they had settled with him taking over the onsen. 

He wanted to cry and scream, to tell his parents that he didn't want to have a future like this. But deep inside he knew that he that he had troubled them enough, and this blissful childhood he was going to get was going to stay as a memory. 

"I'm not going." He whispered, fully crumpling the paper. 

Yuuko only stared at him with shock. 

 

*

 

Yuuri woke up on a Sunday morning with scene of the autumn leaves dancing in the early morning wind. The posters of Viktor that slowly replaced the different reference pictures of other skaters he soon forgot the names of were dim against the weak rays of light. He looked at his idol as he smiled for the camera warmly. His hands cradled a beautiful bouquet of blue tulips, his eyes glowing.  

 _So much for dream come true_ , he whispered to himself numbly. 

After a few minutes of lazing around he forced himself out of the room and down the stairs, rubbing his eyes as he turned around the corner into the dining hall. 

"You must be Yuuri." 

A woman around her thirties sat on the far left of the futon smiled at him, her dyed brown hair restrained into a tight bun. Her face was thin and sharp, adorned in confident hazel eyes. "My name is Tamara Yap, nice to meet you." 

Yuuri's blinked, unsure how to react. 

"Ah, Yuuri! You're awake!" His mother came out of the kitchen with a tray of steaming green tea, a warm smile gracing her chubby face. "This lovely woman has been waiting to see you all morning. She says she wants to volunteer coaching you for ice skating!" 

Volunteer? His attention turned back to the woman who was now sipping on the tea in flawless etiquette, his mouth open. 

"I used to be a Grand Prix champion for female divisions for China. I'm here now in Hasetsu to be a skating instructor, but your friend Yuuko has been appearing in front of my doorstep, insisting that you showed promise for a professional. Your mother showed me your medal room, and its quite impressive." 

"Ariga-- I mean, thank you." Yuuri said politely with widened eyes. This person in his parents onsen was a Grand Prix medallist appearing out of nowhere, asking him to be his coach?

_Where are you finding these things, Yuuko?_

"She told me that your family is having financial problems with you being a professional. Since I'm quite well off now and seeing that your aspirations according to Yuuko are quite solid, I'm here to offer you to become my student for free and enter the Japan Internationals." 

A thousand thoughts ran through his head. This was it. He can say yes, and all of his hopes and dreams will come back and he'll be swept off his feet to meet the idol of his dreams, into a world where his future would be built on what he loved so much, into a world where he can finally meet Viktor Nikiforov.

He looked at his mother. "Don't worry about us, Yuuri." She chirped, smiling warmly. "I'm sure we'll fare well. We'll be so proud of you." 

Just like that, his hopes deflated as quick as they surfaced. 

Of course you won't. His parents were only supportive because they were his parents, but he knew how bad the situation they were in. Yuuri's father can't walk much now, and his mother wasn't any better off with her health and still they had to run an entire hot springs and inn.

If he said yes... 

"I-I'm sorry, but I can't accept the offer. " He bowed briefly, storming back up the stairs without a second glance at Tamara or his mother's face. 

He can't afford to be cruel, not now. 

He didn't come out of his room until he was sure Tamara left. 

 

*

 

He was skating in Ice Castle again when Yuuko barged in, slamming the glass door so hard Yuuri winced, but he quickly recovered when he saw tears in his crush's eyes. She strode towards him wordlessly, a black laptop in hand. 

"I want you to watch this." She plopped the laptop on the flat surface of the fence firmly and flipped it open. 

Viktor's perfect face flickered into view, his body leaning forward towards a mic on the table with a small smile lacing his lips as his eyes reflected the camera flashing at the back. 

"Viktor, what are your thoughts for this year's Grand Prix performance?" An unidentifiable male voic=e asked. 

His smile widened, a sight so beautiful it sent an arrow through Yuuri's heart. "I think I'm honoured to be competing against promising candidates. It really brings out the spirit in me to do better, and I'll definitely look forward to next year's competitors, whether I've seen them or not." 

"Can you tell us a bit about your background?"

"Well," Viktor's eyes darted upwards as if to recall his memories, his fingers tapping each other. "My father was an accountant and my mother is a nurse. They weren't exactly supportive of me taking up ice skating, but I did anyway. It has been hard, especially with their disapproval, but my determination has gotten me far."

Yuuri's eyes widened as Yuuko's darted to his, shooting him a look Yuuri knew all too well. 

"Final question, Mr Nikiforov. What do you have to say to all the young aspiring skaters out there?" 

Viktor's smile came back, and his hand reached to the handle, as if to make sure that the public hears it. "I think that if you know that you're loving what you do right now, do it. If there's a chance out there which you can hold on to for a happier future, don't miss it, because I've done the same and I'm happy that I've never looked back since then. Practice as hard as you can, and do your best." 

Yuuko slammed the laptop shut, her eyes now brimming with more tears. 

 "It took me six hours with Takeshi to find someone eligible to be a coach. Six--hic-- Freaking. Hours. And it took another one hour to convince her to leave her career so that you can join the goddamn competition so you can go see Viktor one day." 

Yuuri looked at her, tears blurring in his own vision. Yuuko sucked in another breath, blinking the tears from her face as she continued. 

"You have the talent, Yuuri. You've won so many competitions. The International Juniors should be just another step, and then the Junior Grand Prix, then the Championships. You're so talented, Yuuri, and as your friend I'm not gonna see those gifts go to waste. I've spoken to your parents about you. They're going to have Mari to be the heir of the business, because she just got declared an alpha." 

Yuuri's jaw dropped. An alpha in the family was rare, since both his parents and grandparents were purely made out of betas, having one easily outweighing the dignity of having a son as the heir. That could turn tides. 

"Yuuko..." 

"I have Tamara's number right here, and there's still two days before the competition's enrolment deadline. Are you going or not?!" She demanded. "Do you wanna see Viktor flesh and blood, or do you want to just rot here?" 

The boy buried his face into his hands as he dragged a whimper out softly, piercing the heavy silence. 

He was so grateful to have Yuuko as a friend.

 

*

 

“You’ll be there too, right?” 

Yuuri craned his neck from his line of thoughts, finding his crush’s glowing eyes on his.

They were back in the same situation as their yearly ritual; the town deep in slumber, the TV in front of them flickering in glitchy colours of the European Championship. Viktor's performance had just finished and they were watching them talk about the next ISU event. 

The ISU event that Yuuri would be participating in.

“You’ve won the Japan Junior Championships, so you’ll be going to next year’s Grand Prix Junior right?” 

“Y-yeah.” Yuuri replied hesitantly, twiddling his thumbs. 

He had done it. Tamara had answered the call that time in all too much enthusiasm and they immediately worked for a routine, breaking through the national records being the youngest to snag the gold medal. The memory came back in a blinding rush of adrenaline; the crowd's deafening cheers as the cold medal draped over his shoulders at the top of the podium, his cheeks flushed as he reached to hold the it up, bringing up an even louder roar. 

He came back to a hero's welcome, his mother congratulating him with an old recipe called pork katsudon that Yuuri quickly fell in love with. Another person popped up in Yuuri's life; former Prima Ballerina Minako Okukawa showed up in his door after reading the news of his victory that spread across the internet like wildfire, offering him ballet classes to strengthen his base of dance. At first Yuuri was hesitant at a potential waste of time, but after a few trial classes and Minako's odd form of payment (bottles of sake, which Yuuri's father had in excess and all too happy to offer), Yuuri's grace and limb strength had improved tremendously to both him and Tamara's glee. 

Since then they had went on a gold-and-silver rampage in many more competitions, between states, between countries and finally, they landed a place in the Four Continents, emerging bronze due to the nerves getting to him. Nevertheless, his previous achievements had been more than enough to land him a place in the next Grand Prix Junior qualification events, where Viktor Nikiforov would be. 

The past months whizzed through his mind, a dream mixed with so much success and failures, but still a dream he would never want to wake up. 

“So luckyyyy.” She slurred, slumping on the table.“I want to see Viktor tooooo.” 

Yuuri’s heartbeat quickened.

“I’ll take you there.” 

Yuuko’s head snapped at his direction. Yuuri felt his cheeks heating up, but he carried on. “I’ll bring you to t-the next Grand Prix Junior, and you can watch him s-skate with me.” 

When he looked up, Yuuko was staring at him like he just turned into Viktor himself. Her lips split into a blinding grin, and the dark room wasn’t so dark anymore.  

“Really?” She whispered. “You’ll really take me there?” 

Yuuri nodded firmly, his head now a tomato.  He knew competition transportation was always funded by the government, but it was always limited to two places; himself and Tamara, his coach from China. 

But Yuuko deserved it; perhaps she deserved to see Viktor more than he does.

So he’ll find a way. Like Yuuko always does.  

“Yeah. I promise.” 

The redhead squealed and tackled her friend into a crushing hug, almost choking Yuuri. 

She laughed as he went into a coughing fit, before they both realised that they should pack up and go back. 

 _Next year_. He echoed Yuuko’s words in his mind as he stared into the night sky, still picturing Viktor’s smiling face with a yearning as big as the galaxies above him. _Next year I’ll be skating in the same ice as you._

 

_13, 15._

 

A year passed and Yuuri trained harder and harder both in and out of the rink. Everyday he crumpled onto his bed, worn from the gruelling training and dance practices. But then he would stretch his neck to look at picture of Victor, smiling gloriously under the spotlight, and the fire would blossom in his chest and he would flip around, thinking about his routine sequence.

It had been a month since his final qualifying event for Grand Prix Junior Finals in Madagascar, a shining silver medal and a secured ticket to where he would meet Viktor. 

He had managed to negotiate one extra ticket to and fro Canada along with another access ticket into the stadium, to both Yuuri and Yuuko’s delight. 

“I can’t wait to get a picture of him and you together.” She sighed dreamily, watching the snow as they danced in the harsh winter wind. 

They have landed in Ontario and are making their way to their hotel, waiting for Tamara to negotiate a price with a taxi driver to bring them there. Despite being wrapped in layers and layers of clothing Yuuri could feel the cold snaking his way onto his skin, sending a chill running through his spine, but his heart was too light to care. 

“Oh, Yuuri, this is a dream come true. Thank you so much.” 

Yuuri only nodded, feeling his cheeks hurt from his own excitement. 

He was going to meet Viktor Nikiforov, rising star and living legend of figure skating with his crush. 

And he was actually going to skate on the same ice as he is. 

The days faded into the night before the Grand Prix Finals quickly, but the excitement in Yuuri only grew, the fact that he was able to see Viktor in person overwhelming his nervousness for his own routine. He laid in bed, attempting to override his thoughts with the routine, only to go back squealing in delight into his pillow. 

He was so screwed for tomorrow. 

 

*

 

Yuuri and Yuuko said their goodbyes at the entrance of the stadium, accompanying a few ex-coaches Tamara trusted. 

“TAKE PICTURES IF YOU CAN!” He heard Yuuko scream. He turned back and gave her a thumbs up, before taking bounding strides towards the backstage, heart in throat. 

He literally burst through the metal doors, attracting every single pair of eye in the room towards him. He barely noticed, his eyes darting everywhere for a flash of silver hair and blue eyes. 

“Viktor’s probably already in the practice skate.” He turned back to see Tamara giggling at his childish act of excitement. “Come, lets get you in your costume quickly so you can go meet him soon.” 

That was what Yuuri had in mind, before realising that his costume was a bodysuit, causing it to slightly rip at the right thigh when he shoves his leg in with full force and having to waste another ten minutes putting on the spare costume. As soon as the last fold of clothing slipped fully onto his body, he donned his sports jacket branding his flag and sprinted out into the entrance and into the public’s eye, watching rows and rows of people cheer and wave as another competitor enters the public practice. 

A high shrill of his name pierced his ear drums and he looked up, finding Yuuko flailing one arm at him, desperately jabbing her other hand in a another direction while mouthing something Yuuri couldn’t decipher. 

He decided to just turn his head as she says, and his heart stopped. 

Right across him Viktor Nikiforov in real flesh and blood leaned on the edge of the rink listening to his coach, his face expressionless.

Without the static interference and fuzzy, dull coloured interpretation of the crappy TV back in Hasetsu, Yuuri could indulge fully with every single detail under the mercy of the light, and it felt like it was the first time watching him again through the screen. His silver locks, now reaching halfway through his back was partially tied up into a messy bun, leaving the other part to sweep at the air as he ejected himself back into the ice. His face was lean and sharp for his age, decorated by long, silver eyelashes that framed azure blue eyes that seemed to reflect the galaxy, a slender nose placed perfectly and lips the shade of cherry blossoms. 

He was truly the epitome of human beauty. 

He leaped into the air, his silver air twirling around him like a halo before landing in crisp precision, causing the stadium to burst into clapping like it was in his actual routine. Everything was there: grace, flair, beauty, only for his red and white jacket layering on his costume, the words R and U sewed on each sides of the zipper. 

Yuuri stood there, saliva creeping out of his hanging jaw. 

A hand landed on his shoulder and he shrieked, turning those blue eyes he had dreamed of for so long to his direction. 

It was only for a fragment of a second, but for Yuuri it was as if time and space had stopped altogether, focusing on the blue depths of his idol. The dazzling azure irises raptured his cinnamon brown’s in an appraising gaze, nothing more, nothing less. He could only hold his breath as the eye contact lasted, his heart threatening to thud out of his chest. 

Then the Russian looked away, and the moment was broken. 

“Public practice isn’t called public practice if you’re just gonna stand there at the edge fangirling, you know.” 

Yuuri’s attention shifted to Tamara’s smirk as she tightened her grip on his shoulder.

“Go onto the rink and say hi. Do some jumps while you’re at it.” 

Yuuri looked at Tamara like she just told him to jump off a cliff, but he doesn’t protest. He grips the sides of the entrance and took a deep breath, feeling the ice and his nervousness slide into his lungs before he slides into the rink. He heard Yuuko screeching again, but he doesn’t look up. 

He ignores Tamara’s first advice and sped up across the ice, preparing for his first jump. 

If he was going to greet his new idol, he wasn’t going to waste that opportunity by stammering in front of him. 

He had just mastered the triple axel last month, practicing it until he could land it ten times consecutively, much to Tamara’s delight. 

He never knew it could score him something more than just points. 

On his mental count to three he flung himself into the air with all of his strength, feeling the cold air stroke his cheeks as time slowed down. 

One rotation. 

Two rotations. 

Three rotations. 

Gravity reached to claim him and he skidded back onto the ice, not a hair out of place. Another wave of applause surged from the audience, heating Yuuri’s insides. He turns around, a grin splitting his face. Some of the competitors who just entered the public practice gave him a smattering round of clapping. His coach showed him two thumbs up, her obsidian eyes gleaming with pride, but Viktor’s azure depths kept to the ground, cruising across the ice in lazy circles. 

Yuuri blinked, disappointment and confusion melting the smile off his lips. At the very least Viktor should’ve heard the loud sound of his weight colliding with the ice, but the Russian looked like nothing had happened. 

He bit his bottom lip and sped up once more, a triple toe loop sequence in his mind.

He over-rotated, crashing into the ice headfirst.  

This time Viktor noticed, and Yuuri swore he saw a hint of a smile on those lips. 

 

* 

 

Yuuri went off the ice as the audience thunders in applause, hobbling to the kiss and cry with a blank slate on his face. 

He had flubbed most all of his combos involving triples except for the last one, which thankfully carried the most points out of the rest. He even had to add more flying spins for presentation scores to make up for it. Still, he knew that whatever he would get would be utterly embarrassing. The image of ever so slight curve on Viktor’s lips flashed before his eyes, growing more and more uncanny by the second. 

Tamara waited there, silent as she watched her student slid into the space beside him and placed a gentle hand on his back as he leaned forward, his hands on his face. 

He didn’t care about the cameras. He didn’t care about the fact that Yuuko could see him like this in wide television above them. 

Yuuri was good at figure skating. He was good enough to become the youngest ever skater to have participated in the Japan Junior Internationals and snagged the gold. Probably because his parents were there and Vicchan, a poodle he only got last year, had been there for him and he was in the comfort of his own country, but it wasn't like he never stepped out of his country before.

_So why…?_

A male announcer's voice resounded across the arena, blaring a score that made Yuuri's insides twist. 

As soon as they could leave Yuuri got up, not bearing to look at the screen. He settled down at the corner away from most of his fellow competitors, waiting for the next person to perform. 

Viktor entered the arena and the mood of the crowd instantly shot up, clapping and screaming and shouting ten times louder than any audience had cheered for Yuuri. 

Of course, He thought sadly. He was the rising god after all. 

His costume was a sparkling suit of opal layered with grey mesh with light dancing off the stadium at the slightest movement. His shoulder pads and gloves were laced with feathers, a prominent black cross streaked down his chest. His hair had been tied up properly into a bun with a headpiece of leaves resting on his silver updo. 

Yuuri shook his thoughts away and decided to concentrate on his idol. The Russian settled in the middle of the rink, his hands help up high in his starting stance as the music begun. 

The main instrument in the music was violin like last year, but this time in a tantrum-filled tempo,  its bow gliding up and down the strings rapidly on its climaxes. Viktor was as quick, spinning and dancing, mixing grace and speed with so much skilled equanimity it sent chills down Yuuri’s spine. He skated across the ice, lose strands of hair flickering behind him, his face relaxed and his previously empty irises gleaming in passion. 

The music was based entirely on crescendos, but Viktor had managed to break through all of it seemingly in ease, throwing the audience in the want for more and more as the violin continually swells, ever challenging. 

With every jump time stops, with every landing the crowd roars. 

Yuuri followed the crowd’s every movement, cheering and pouring all of his voice into screaming and at the refined beauty of the bewitchment Viktor had placed across the entire stadium. He probably wouldn't be able to talk for the rest of the day, but it was more than worth it. 

It was so beautiful.

As the music glided towards its end all too soon, the Russian leaped into the air for a final triple axel, sending his costume sparkling like a disco ball. 

Except that Yuuri counted the number of rotations and the way he took off, and it wasn’t a triple axel. 

The living legend descended onto the ice, lurching slightly forward as his foot throbbed, but the audience was already charmed too deep in to have that kind of mistake faze them. 

The commentator in the back identified the jump as a quad flip in a stuttering voice, and the entire stadium went frenzy, clapping so loud that Yuuri’s heart felt like it was about to burst.  

Before this all he had done was stare in front of a small, half broken TV, dreaming what it was like to be in the top. He had trained so hard, sacrificed so much time on the ice ever since he had first entered a rink, ever since he was small and offered in a chance of innocent happiness. Still, his goal felt so far away.  

And now, standing in his first international competition after a shattering defeat, watching as his idol break through limitations in a fashion no one could ever mimic, a mix of wonder and despair flooded his stomach. 

It had never hit him properly hard how important, how untouchable Viktor was until now. He had thought the moment he entered this competition he could talk to Viktor, maybe have him as a friend. But the way the rising star had enchanted his audience, the way Viktor moved that made Yuuri ache for more, he knew that the road to actually, finally skate like Viktor is far longer than he’d thought. 

 

*

 

Yuuri cried on the way back from the stadium. His score landed him in fifth place then, wiping the giddy smile off Yuuko as soon as she saw Tamara comforting him at the venue they promised to meet. 

“I talked with Tamara’s old friends, and they said they can find me a way into the performer’s section,” She winked. “If you’re too embarrassed, I’ll get a picture and an autograph for you.” 

Yuuri felt a bit better. 

The next day tumbled out in weaker weather, but Yuuri felt more confident as they walked towards the stadium. Tamara didn’t say anything much as usual, flashing him an encouraging smile and a pat on the back.

His free skate progressed almost flawlessly except for his hastened landing of his double toe loop, which fortunately wasn’t able to breach his score much. The music felt right in his body and his heart had danced with it, his worries and fears forgotten. Both him and Tamara cried in delight as a staggeringly high mark popped onto the screen, heaving him up to second place. 

He could win a medal. 

After hearing the congratulations from a few coaches and competitors he excused himself and raced to the toilet, skates in hand until he heard a familiar shout of a girl. 

“Viktor Nikiforov!” 

Yuuri turned around, but there was no one. 

He walks to the other side of the hallway, ever so careful to not make a sound and leaned forward.

A redhead dressed in layers of cheap winter wear approached a silver haired boy in the middle of stretching, a high black collar peeping out from his red and white jacket. 

“I’m Yuuko!” The girl said with a flustered face, holding out a paper with both hands. “It’s an honour to meet you! Can I have your autograph?” 

Viktor looked up, his lustrous locks bouncing and veiling his face from Yuuri. 

Yuuri’s heart leaped. 

This was perfect. He could have that photo with Viktor Yuuko always dreamed of, he could thank the boy for letting him cl —

“What did you say again?” Viktor spoke, rough russian accenting every pronounciation. 

The hallway was thick with silence. Yuuko stared at him with wide open eyes, her face turning red. “U-um, sorry. I’m Yuuko. I’ve been a big fan of yours since your debut.” 

“Oh my fucking god.” He growled. Yuuri gripped his fists, trepidation filling his warning senses. “Isn’t this place supposed to be empty?”

“Uhh… I searched the whole place to find you here.” She chirped. “You see, one of my friend is competing alongside you as well! His name is Katsuki Yu—“ 

“Shut the fuck up!” He barked. 

_Wait._

_What?_

“This is why I came here to fucking practice. All of you uncontrollable fangirls are just dying to get stupid autographs off me while I’m trying to fucking prepare for my turn, and now one of you just caaaan’t hold it back and go over the motherfucking roof because my performance wasn’t enough!” 

There was another moment of silence, and Yuuri heard sniffing. 

This was all wrong, wrong, _wrong_. 

Yuuri stormed forward into the light, nostrils flaring. Yuuko stood there, her arms shrinking as teardrops slid down her chin. 

A growl rumbled from his throat. 

“Give her the autograph.” 

The silver haired boy turned around, fixing his eyes onto his for the second time.

For a brief moment Yuuri had never seen anything so cold.  

“What did you say?” The Russian tilted his head as he approached him, Yuuri almost backed off. 

Almost. 

“I said,” He leaned forward, putting as much rage in his eyes as he could, attempting to pierce into those sky blue eyes that he had admired just seconds ago. “Give her the autograph.”

A second passed as they glared at each other, waiting for the other to succumb. 

The Russian’s eyebrow cocked, and a smirk spread through his lips. “Aren’t you the guy who fell from his toe loop on practice?” 

Yuuri’s reeled from the memory. So it was a smile after all. 

“Your short program was _shit_. The sitting spin you placed was so out of line it made me almost vomit.” He heard the older boy grate at the words, as if he wanted to burn that description into his mind. “Japan must be sooo desperate, sending someone like you to compete. You might as well skate your stupid ass out of this rink and take proper secondary education.” 

He felt his heart stumble and fall, his breath held in horror. 

This was his idol, his motivation, his dream, flesh and blood, telling him with all genuine voice to quit the only thing he was good at. 

In another world Yuuri might actually take up his advice. In another world, Yuuri would’ve immediately packed up and said goodbye to the skating world in a heartbeat, returning into a world of an average. He would do it, because Viktor was perfect and he knew everything. He was his god. 

But he had climbed this far, sacrificed this much, and he wasn't going to back down now. If anything, it just made Viktor look more and more equal, more human until all Yuuri sees the living skating legend as was a replicate of Takeshi, just with really good looks. 

Takeshi would always shove Yuuri whenever he successfully completes a jump, barking at him the exact same words Viktor just fired. Then Yuuko would intervene and retaliate for him, telling him how much believes in Yuuri. Yuuko would be the one to steal the keys for extra practice when Yuuri felt restless at night, Yuuko would be the one who convinces Yuuri’s parents that skating made his son happy.

She deserved much, much more than just an autograph.  

“Shut up!” Yuuri hollered, stepping forward in attempt to intimidate. “Why is it so hard to just sign a simple piece of paper?” 

Something flashed before the older boy’s eyes; mirth? 

“And why would I do that?” He crooned, walking around Yuuri, like a predator before it consumes its prey. “Is she special to you? Your girlfriend?” He looked over to give Yuuko a glance. The redhead had just decided to back off, her swollen eyes widening in fear. 

“Pretty ugly for you, isn’t she?” 

Without thinking, the Japanese's fists lunges for Viktor’s face, hungry for pain. 

He had completely forgotten about the skates in hand. 

For a moment the trio watched in panic as the blades soared in the air, reflecting light till the deadliest of the edges. A scream echoed across the hall. 

Luckily Viktor’s reflexes took over to avoid his face getting split into half, but it wasn’t enough. Yuuri's skates fell on the floor in a loud thud, leaving a long, thin line of red on Viktor’s face that inked from his cheek to the front of his pale neck. 

Yuuri didn’t care at this point. He felt too betrayed, too hurt to do anything else. 

“HOW COULD YOU?” He heard his voice break, his fists gripping as Viktor slowly runs a finger across the wound, his pupils shrinking to the size of a virus. Yuuri’s instincts screamed at him to run and hide, but he rooted his feet to the ground. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US? YUUKO AND I HAVE BEEN LOOKING UP TO YOU FOR THREE YEARS! YOU WERE MY INSPIRATION! YOU WERE MY HOPE!” 

“YUURI!” Yuuko choked at the back, as if Yuuri would actually shut up. 

“You can’t even skate for shit.” Viktor spat. “There’s a difference between destroying yourself on the ice just because of your cowardice and actually being good, and you’re just filled with the first one.” 

"You told us to chase our dreams no matter what." Yuuri protested. "And I listened." 

"Um, I don't fucking care?" Viktor furrowed his silver eyebrows like it was the most obvious thing to say. 

_He doesn't care._

The thought repeated itself in Yuuri's head again and again until the awe, the respect and admiration he had for Viktor Nikiforov had all but evaporated, leaving something so hot, so powerful it washed over Yuuri’s bones, covering them in liquid courage. 

“I’ll beat you,” Yuuri seethed in a voice that didn’t sound like his. Tears continually spilled from his eyes. “I’ll beat you next year. I’ll make you regret ever saying something like that to someone who have changed their lives because of _you_.” 

Footsteps echoed across the room. Another emotion flashed before his eyes and disappeared as quick as it came, too quick for Yuuri to identify.

“I’d like to see you try, _piggy_.” A deadly smile. 

“Viktor?” An old voice rang through the corridor, and a man popped into view. His skin was as dark as bronze, wrapped in a dark green coat and yellow scarf, two lanyards dangling from his thick neck. 

Viktor’s coach. 

As soon as he landed his yellowing eyes on the situation he exclaimed something in Russian. Viktor answered back with the same fluency, but he didn’t sound alarmed. They started exchanging brief Russian sentences, the younger of the other smiling until the balding man turns to them. 

Yuuri’s face turned white, expecting him to be accused of sabotage. 

Instead, his coach just sighs and shakes his head. “I apologise for my student’s bad behaviour. He’s a very cocky skater since not a lot of people can go against him at this age, so he’s even more impatient now. The cut should heal soon and can be hidden, but I’ll have to discuss this with your coach.”

Yuuri wasn’t even sorry.  

The Japanese turned around and gave him the friendliest smile he could manage. 

“She should be at the debriefing room.” 

Then he walked away with Yuuko at his side, not casting a single glance back. 

Newfound motivation surged through his veins. It wasn’t the hopeful kind of stimulation he gets when he sees Viktor grace the crowd with another flawless performance, when he wishes in all of his birthday candles that he could be as good as him. It had coursed across like a steady fire, igniting his insides. Promising. Independent. 

_I will skate like him._

_I will skate better than him._

Yuuko didn’t say anything as she departed to the audience seats, leaving Yuuri in the warm up room to stare at Tamara as she conversed with Yakov in concerned tones. His coach, to his surprise didn’t tell him anything, only casting him a look Yuuri couldn’t quite place his finger on. 

“Let’s go.” 

Yuuri followed her back to the VIP seats, not bothering to ask. They arrived just in time to see Viktor enter the ice, much to the excitement of everyone else except for him. 

The long thin wound on his neck was gone, probably covered up in makeup, his costume a cascade of long bell sleeves and soft gradients of purple and pink. His hair flowed behind him like a silver cloak, liquid mercury against the light. 

As the music sweetened into his ears, Yuuri felt shocked at the new perspective he was looking at now. Viktor still moved with skill, but that was all that Yuuri could see in his movements. Practice, practice and more practice. Gone was the grandeur, replaced with Yuuri’s calm analysis of his movements, what he could improve on, the slight slips and mistakes on the landing and leaps. The balance was monstrously off on the third jump of the routine despite the successful landing, but obviously the skater had danced to the flow too well for the audience to notice. 

The music simmered into an end, and everyone around him stood up, delivering the loudest claps they could give. Yuuri's fingers tightened around his arms, watching his name move down another rank. 

Fourth place used to be a position he would be proud of, especially in his debut of the Junior Grand Prix. After all, he came to Canada only happy to see Viktor in person. 

But as he watched the Russian stand the middle of the podium, a gold medal draped over his chest once more with the audience cheering and camera flashes dancing in his glacier-like eyes, his cold grating voice replaying in Yuuri’s head again and again, he fumed silently. 

Skating like Viktor was no longer the ultimate goal. It was a milestone that looked far away, but still reachable, and he’ll pass it and move on to the next. 

If he worked hard, worked harder. 

After the medal ceremony they all took the first plane back to Japan. Yuuko insisted she was fine as soon as they landed in Hasetsu, like she always do. 

“Oh wells, some people are really cocky about their own work,” Yuuko sighed, pressing her cheek against her hand. “I mean, isn’t that guy from your class the same as well?” 

He listened to her ramble and ramble as they passed through the customs, drinking in the disappointment between her words, the energy that died in her magenta irises.

"Tadaima," Yuuri muttered as he placed the luggage onto the familiar wooden tiles of his family's onsen. Tamara and Yuuko already gone their separate ways, leaving Yuuri to walk towards his home, recalling Viktor's words again and again. "Yuuri!" His mother crushed him into a hug, followed by his father's small but warm embrace. "We watched your performance, and we're so proud of you." 

 _But its not good enough_ , He wanted to scream, feeling the tears blot his vision again.  _It's not good enough._

As soon as he reached his room he took down all of his posters of Viktor, feeling the satisfying shred of paper as he viciously tore them down, harder and harder at each consecutive one until his wallpaper peeled along with it. 

He stuffed them all into one box, carrying it to the coasts of Hasetsu where the clouds had swallowed the stars and the early spring breeze caressed his cheeks. He threw the cardboard box onto the grey expanse of sand and lit a match. 

As he watched the red and yellow flames twist and twirl around the charring colours, he silently made a vow to himself.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my eyes are hurting from staring at the screen for such a long period of time hggngh
> 
> Grand Prix medallist showing up in Yuuri's parent's onsen offering to become Yuuri's coach? hmm where have i heard that 
> 
> Anyways sorry for the lengthy first chapter xD The second chapter would be better, promise. ;3
> 
> Viktor's SP music: Suit no.1 in G major for solo cello: Prelude. kinda a classic
> 
> ayy u can see me on tumblr! http://deathmark1999.tumblr.com


	2. My Sweat, My Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lied this chapters still long sorry ;_; 
> 
> also the very first chapter i wrote for this story is actually still a long way to go xD I placed a thick wad of plot in between which i'm not entirely sure how to write it, so yeah I'm still stumbling on words for this partially cuz i'm really frustrated that i'm not doing my revision for a levels and my thoughts are mixed with it too so its just half viktuuri and half about optical isomers xD 
> 
> basically i'm disappointed with how i wrote this but i feel angry if i don't post a second chapter so here u go sorry guys 
> 
> after watching episode 12 again and again and Viktuuri fluff I'm like legit struggling with the hate between the characters like CHRIST PLZ *REPEATEDLY WATCHES EPISODE 11 ENDING*
> 
> mY WRITING IS DEAD

He had discussed with Tamara about confronting Viktor, who understood easily but was hesitant in her guarantee for a gold medal. One year is a long time, but to go from fourth place to rocketing past someone who had both talent and time in his hands was something that borderlines the impossible. But as she saw the thirst in his eyes she gave in and told him that she would try her best. 

She didn’t have to tell him to work harder. 

From then on his life transformed into a flurry of gruelling training and bruises, but Yuuri had never been so focused in his life. 

Wake up, morning run to school. Afternoon, Ice Castle with Tamara. Evening, ballet sessions with Minako. Go back home, do stretches, and go to bed. 

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

The process wasn’t perfect. He would give in midway through his morning jogs and he would collapse at the side of the bridge, his muscles screaming in pain with him ending up in the bed for days. He would sob through midnight study for tests as the homework looms over him, unforgiving and merciless. He would slump on the walls of Ice Castle after an undeserving break with days of not being able to land a new jump, his nails digging into his palm so hard red would ooze onto the ground. Sometimes when he looks at the mirror or when he finds himself doing cardio the word  _piggy_ would whisper back at him, mocking every single inch of his fat like he didn't make an effort to reduce them at all. 

But he’ll then recall the image of Viktor’s cold eyes, let the every cursed syllable on his goddamn Russian tongue burn into his mind the moment his and Yuuko’s hopes shattered, melting away his pain, his fears.  

Yuuri would hold on to that thought desperately like a ray of hope and wipe his tears, pushing himself further than he’d never imagine he could. He had to. 

He’ll prove it to Viktor. He’ll prove it to the world and become the best no one has ever been and show that Viktor wasn’t untouchable, that he wasn’t the most perfect skater that everyone thinks he is. He’ll wipe that cocky smile off his face, and he’ll press on and on into the years until all Viktor Nikiforov, rising skating legend would ever be known as is _second._

He would watch his coaches demonstrate new moves, ingraining every spin, every technique into his brain and forcing his body to do the same. If his body wasn’t weak enough he would beg for more practice until he could feel the satisfying ache on every inch of his body, until he needed Yuuko’s help to walk to school the next day. At night he would watch his toes bleed from all the pointe practice, his hips speckled in cuts from falling countless times and he would smile. He knew that next day he would emerge better and stronger, then the day after, and the next and the next until the next time he faces Viktor. 

He became more and more distant with Yuuko despite the ordeal they had shared weeks ago, being so focused on his training that he had almost forgotten his life outside the rink and studio. They chatted sometimes when Yuuri had a break, his friend turning more into a staff member to make money for her family and also a favour to Takeshi. They were declared betas and had started dating a month ago, which disheartened Yuuri slightly although he couldn’t help but feel that this was punishment for breaking Yuuko’s heart indirectly. She took the meeting less furiously than he did, but she offered her support when Yuuri told her about beating Viktor. 

“You better not swear at your fans too,” She added, narrowing her eyes, earning a chuckle from the boy. 

God, he would never. 

He wasn’t invited for World Junior Championships, but in a way Yuuri was relieved. He wasn’t ready to face Viktor yet, not when he still has such a long way to go. Still, he watches him perform on television in his parent’s onsen with Minako and Tamara, his emotions souring as the crowd fawns over the Russian again and again despite the routine not even starting, turning to his initial position. 

“He’s improving so fast.” Tamara had commented as Viktor stunned the crowd with another quad, this time landing it beautifully. Yuuri kept his eyes on the audience, observing the silence, flinching ever so slightly as they applauded when he landed jump after jump. He could almost caught praying that Viktor would fall out of his flow, and the whole world would groan in disappointment. Obviously whoever who had listened to his prayers didn’t do anything, and the final notes of the music whispered into a weak crescendo. 

It was torture to look at the screen, a reminder that Viktor was still the top of the world, gliding into the Junior Championships effortlessly with all with that horrible personality that deserved nothing. He had everyone under his control; the audience, the judges, the media. Yuuri gripped the fabric of his pants soundlessly, hearing some of the threads break. 

Having to own the world like that was no longer a dream. It was a future Yuuri had promised himself, and he would deliver it in less than a year. 

As usual the routine ended without a single flaw, the Russian rose from his bow and shot the audience a single wink that caused half of the stadium to shrill. Yuuri didn’t know wether Yuuko would do the same. Hopefully not. 

 

*

 

“YUURI!” The redhead slapped her hands onto her face. “You know you’re too young to do quads! It’ll delay your secondary gender development!”  

It was five in the evening, when the rink fully closes from the public, but an exception made for Yuuri. Tamara was gone to buy lunch for the staff members and Yuuri, leaving him with time enough for Yuuri to cross some lines. 

“V-Viktor’s already doing quads in competition,” The younger boy mumbled dumbly under his breath. He almost forgot about the second gender. Most of his family was a mix of alpha and beta, which was an accurate representation of the figure skating world’s secondary gender population as well so he wasn’t really worried. Either he keeps smelling sweet things(or so Mari says) or he just stays normal, so Yuri doesn’t really see a reason to sit around and waste time for his second stage of puberty to hit him.

“Well, because Viktor’s an early bloomer so he doesn’t have to worry about anything.” Takeshi scoffed. 

A moment of silence hung between them as they remembered the moment when the silver haired boy proudly presented himself as an alpha at an age of thirteen in front of the screen, much to the surprise of absolutely no-one. 

He was, after all, born into excellence. He wa an untouchable god of ice, only to be marvelled and not challenged. And that is how alphas usually are. To have Mari as one stunned the entire Katsuki family, but nevertheless his parents were overjoyed. 

Being an omega on the other hand, is an awkward topic to discuss. An omega was known more of a ‘breeder’ of the human species, slave to the alphas with not many uses except for sexual entertainment. They had a choice to keep their secondary gender classified to the social media although compulsory to legally register, but with their frequent heat periods, chaos-causing pheromones and tacky preparations, not many of them had survived to climb to the top of the ISU, or any competitive activities at all.

“Yuuri,” Yuuko crossed her arms as she sighed, having another reason under her sleeve. The brunette could sense a lecture approaching. “What about height? Aren’t you aware doing quads now would keep you short?” 

That comment got to the younger boy slightly, but it didn’t faze him enough. Viktor was the polar opposite of Yuri’s physique; lean, graceful, tall. Again, despite having a few alphas in his family, the tallest Katsuki could only reach the height of a banana tree, a tragic fact Yuuri accepted long ago. He’ll just have to best him in terms of skills.

“I’ll just do more leg stretching exercise next time.” He twiddled his fingers, his obsidian orbs grazing the ground, at the same time growing impatient. He just recovered from the joy of getting enough rotations on his very first quad. He wasn’t going to get pulled down from having a head start with stupid reasons like growing _taller._

_“Yuuri—“_

Before the two can nag him again, he skated away into a spread eagle, ready for his second attempt. 

 

*

 

Tamara has Yuuri trying out new routines, revising the choreography from the senior division although she left out the quads with the exact same reason as Yuuko and Takeshi had offered, much to the annoyance of Yuuri. Unlike his two childhood friends, Tamara was much stricter about it, threatening a resignation if she sees him doing anymore of those unnecessary jumps. So every night when he is sure the town was encased in slumber, he slips out of his parents onsen and jogs. He doesn’t know exactly how to operate the entire Ice Castle without Yuuko’s help, but he knows enough to turn on the lights and got the cooler for the rink ready. 

He bet Viktor didn’t have to put up with this kind of nonsense protection. His coaches probably willingly allowed any kind of routine, albeit quad toe loops or flips, even giving him advice on how to perfect it, how to do it better. 

Yuuri grunted at the thought of it and swerved into the air again. One rotation, two rotations, three rotations, four rotations. Then he crashed into the ice, pain exploding in his feet. 

Then he tries again, and again, and again until his body begs him to stop. He knew that it was impossible to master a quad within a week, but he couldn’t help but hope. He thought maybe, just maybe, maybe he is stronger and more talented then him. Maybe in the next round, he thought as he speeds up once more, he’ll be spinning in the air with all four rotations and landing perfectly, rewriting definition of talent in ice skating. The fact that he got the correct rotations on first try had him squealing in excitement. He only had to master the way of landing, although that was a solid half of the process. 

Obviously reality decided otherwise and after many near-lethal crashes, he trudges back home under the watchful eye of the moon, eyelids heavy and his muscles throbbing. 

A few more weeks passed. At one point he grew so exhausted at practicing he just slept at the bench, only to be woken up by Yuuko’s screams accompanied with Tamara’s silhouette lined by the first rays of sunlight. Yuuri started crying there and then, terrified of losing his coach. 

The Chinese then spent the whole morning comforting Yuuri, stroking his hair and telling him that he could practice quads if he really wanted to, but only less than ten times per session. It wasn’t a satisfactory number for him. but good enough for him to stop sneaking out and actually getting proper hours of sleep. 

Hopefully good enough would be more than enough. 

 

_14, 16. (Present)_

 

There are three competitions Yuuri would be having to face Viktor in total for the year. Which meant if he wants the glorious victory he had dreamed— no, yearned for viciously for a year, he would have to get gold in all of them. 

The first is Yuuri’s first event for the Grand Prix Junior, which is held in Netherlands. 

They usually arrive in competition areas a week before since Yuuri’s circadian rhythm had always been awfully rigid, but that problem is nothing compared to the blinding nerves he is going through as soon as they landed. 

Waves of regret rushed to him again and again as he realised a year might actually have been too short for him to catch up to Viktor, especially when he had school hours hogging almost half of his weekdays. The pressure of his promise suddenly feels all too real on him, and all the Japanese can think of is the inevitable defeat that would humiliate him for years to come. His common sense popped up and told him that Viktor should’ve gotten similar vows like this in the past, but he probably forgets them because he’s too popular.

 _But what if he does?_ Another voice screamed back at his rationality.  What if Viktor decided to tell Yuuri’s vow to the whole wide world? What if Viktor decided to tell everyone that Yuuri had harmed him on the neck? 

The latter won. 

Everywhere Yuuri and Tamara would go his eyes would dart, desperately searching for silver hair and blue eyes despite the fact that he didn’t want to see the person at all. Not even in competition. Not for a very long time, not till Yuuri felt ready. When his coach decides to the public skating rink to practice Yuuri turns even more shaky, feeling the motivation leaving his hands to tremble. What if Viktor sees him? What if he underestimates him again and calls him piggy in front of everyone? 

They leave the rink an hour later, a memory of a disastrous series of jumps in Yuuri’s mind’s wake. Tamara decides to just settle down in the hotel and start adjusting to the timezone, but Yuuri simply tossed and turned in his bed, feeling his insides churn in dread. 

Time crawled across six days agonisingly, and night before the Short Program is even more suffocating; Yuuri ran through his routine again and again as his body twitches restlessly on bed,  his attempts dissolving efficiently into panic. Eventually the morning sunlight flooded the room, basking the whole place in a soft, warm glow, but Yuuri widens his reddening eyes at the sight like the most disgusting thing in the world. 

It is only until the warm up session when he walks across the hall with his eyes down before a small, cold scoff breaths into his ear, causing him to look back just in time to see a flash of silver disappear down the corridor. 

Yuuri remembers his vow at the beach for the millionth time, and energy fuelled in hate slammed back to his body in full force after a week. 

He storms to the public practice with the glimmer back in his eyes, and enters the rink before Viktor does. It didn’t really prove anything, but Yuuri felt good starting off first. He decides to do some small flexes until he notices a loud chorus of acclamation, Russian flags popping up from the audience. He turns around and sees the silver haired boy slide into the rink, his hair now restrained to a ponytail, his eyes kept to the floor. A long, thin scar carved its mark at where Yuuri had previously hit him, but Yuuri didn’t know wether to be shocked at the fact that it didn’t heal properly, or the fact that the Russian didn’t bother to cover it up. 

Not that he really cared anyway. 

_Let’s see who’s really worth clapping for._

Immediately Yuuri sped up and threw himself into the air, landing the triple flip gracefully. The crowd’s cheering intensifies. 

His gaze swept to Viktor, who now looked up at him with recognition in his eyes. 

He remembers Yuuri’s promise. 

Surprise washed over Yuuri, but he restrained it from affecting his facial expressions. Then he sees the Russian race over the ice himself, launching into a triple loop. He descends back onto the ice successfully, attracting another small round of applause. The silver haired boy looked up from his performance, cocking his eyebrows at Yuri mockingly. 

_So this is a fight now, huh?_

The Japanese forced a smirk onto his lips and prepared for another jump. Triple Salchow, perfect landing. Another smattering applause. 

The Russian’s Triple Lutz countered his, drawing more attention. 

Yuuri frowns. Triple Toe Loop. 

Triple Axel. 

The next few minutes turned into an exchange of jumps and combinations with Yuuri praying as loudly as he could in his mind. Deep inside he knew he wasn’t suppose to do this in public practice. It drew out immense amount of energy to maintain so many things while in a jump, which were supposed to be preciously reserved for the official performance.  

But he couldn’t lose. Things are going too well now. 

That is, until Viktor unleashed a quad toe loop, and all hopes in him died out. 

The audience flipped. 

A cold bead sweat formed on Yuuri’s forehead. Those who are already in the stadium knew what the public practice had evolved into all looked at the Japanese, watching his response to that kind of difficulty. 

He slid in a raspy breath, recalling the steps his coach had taught him for quads and—

“KATSUKI YUURI!” 

He looked back to see a very angry Tamara with her hands held firmly to the fence, her eyes glaring daggers. His gaze switched to Viktor, whose coach also had enough of the small dance off they had on the ice and is now lambasting shamelessly at his pupil at the side. 

Once backstage Tamara launches into a lecture herself. “I know that you really want to beat Viktor, but doing good in public practice isn’t going to affect a single point for your actual performance. Look at you. You’re sweating so much.” 

Yuuri could only nod as he sinks onto a chair, feeling half of his energy gone. “Should I move my jumps into the first half then?” 

Tamara places her fingers over her lips for a second of contemplation. “No, the multiplier is worth it. Keep the combos there. You have the biggest stamina out of everyone in the rink despite your age, so I can trust that.” 

Yuuri nodded at the compliment weakly, fear manifesting. They had prepared a vigorous short program compared to other routines Tamara has made for Yuuri. Despite the fact that more effort would be allocated to his presentation than technical points, the combinations Tamara had put together for him were bulky, consecutive triples. 

He _really_ shouldn’t have wasted his strength. 

A man in charge called out the coaches to draw their positions, and to Yuuri’s relief he got last. He wanted to see when was Viktor’s turn, but his shyness prevented him from asking anything to his fellow competitors.

The first is someone from Switzerland, a boy with a shock of blonde hair mopping slightly tanned skin, innocent emerald eyes wistful and hoping. He looked fairly muscular and much taller, and to Yuuri's surprise that they share the same age. 

Soon his performance ended, leaving the crowd cheering as the boy bowed. _It wasn’t really impressive_ , Yuuri mused as the Swiss and his bald coach walk towards the kiss and cry. _But his jumps were massive. If the boy had enough stamina he might as well go for quads._

The scores shows up on screen, and the two of them stare at the numbers as a grin slowly form on their faces. The Japanese watches them, thinking how nice it must’ve been to only have themselves to beat. 

_Speak of the devil._

The crowd cheered again as Viktor cruised into the ice, his red and white jacket off to reveal a black, partially see through costume with crystals crowding from the top left of his torso down to his right hip bone. A flap that spread out starting from the front centre to the back into a gradient of black to white billowed, revealing a blood red colour inside. The scar is gone, and the ponytail style remains the same. 

The music this time is something resembling a marching band, a surge of cellos with a soft layer of violin. The woman’s voice enters, soft but tender, ever growing with care. Viktor spins slowly, collecting the voices and sounds of the stadium into the palm of his outstretched hand before placing it to his chest, his eyes closing softly. His movements became petite, ever delicate as he dances across the stadium, throwing his hands across to shower imaginary flowers to the stands. He is no longer a skater, rather a wandering woman who has opened her eyes into a new world and this is her dance for joy. 

His first combination came, a triple loop and a double axel that goes at the exact second the woman’s voice first faded. The crowd hollers at his swift landing, but tire shows in his eyes.  _Has he healed that quickly?_ The second jumps came, but instead of two double axels they turned into single toe loops. The audience sighs in disappointment, but nevertheless they were still captivated as he moved still with consistent grace, showering Viktor with claps as he went into a combination spin. 

The woman’s voice turned climatic, and Viktor went into his final series of jumps. A quad was expected to be in the program, but that idea immediately ceased as he landed the last jump with a triple axel. Yuuri could see the shudder in the boy’s legs as his skates remade contact with the ice, but still it was a brilliant execution. The song went on and on, turning into a small and disappearing tune of the violin into silence. 

The usual happened; deafening screams, bouquets and flowers being thrown at the ice, Viktor bowing, the crystals on his costume glinting under the stadium lights. The screens flash to the scoreboard, putting the score of the Swiss boy to shame by a staggering 30 points. 

Despite all odds Viktor was still able to create such a breathtaking performance, having less energy and time compared to Yuuri to heal. 

This is what Yuuri has to go in par with. This is what he has to exceed. 

It wasn’t long until his turn actually came. He stood up as he felt the nerves claim him, but gently mild compared the past week. It's the perfect amount of energy, blending with his burning determination beautifully. Him and Tamara made their way to the rink, the matted white expanse welcoming and mocking at the same time, lined by rows and rows of people carrying his country's flag. 

He peels his jacket off, revealing a costume with bell sleeves and flowing ridges that dissolved from pearl white into blue, handing it to Tamara who took it with shaking hands. They exchanged nods of good luck, Yuuri noticing the nervous withdrawal of Tamara's lip into her teeth. He flashed an additional smile at her and enters the ice, into the mercy of the cameras and judges.

The music starts, a steady rhythm of the organ. He closed his eyes, and let his long, arduous practice take over his body. 

He had done the choreography so many times he could feel his arms and legs acting on their own, twisting and turning at every accelerando. It was a relatively quick song that was an idea of Tamara’s to increase the technical difficulty of the whole routine if he ever wanted to gain an upper hand. With so little chords for cadences Yuuri had to always be on his feet, spinning and gliding with almost no time to just simply move across on the ice until the very end of the song. 

_"Your short program was shit."_

The song of the violin may be a mess to everyone in the stadium, but not him. At the exact tempo with the exact scream of the violin he performs his first jump, his heart beating at the speed of a limping horse as he counted his number of rotations then cascading down right on time with another beat to connect the rhythm of the song perfectly. It is a work of patience to do so, frustrating Yuuri in practice to no ends. The bottom half of the song approaches fast, but exhilaration has poisoned the aching sensation of tire so much Yuuri doesn’t know what he was feeling anymore. He doesn’t have to. 

All he has to do his best and beat Viktor Nikiforov. 

He made his second series of jumps; triple axel, double toe loop, triple—

For a split second Yuuri’s knee lost grip of his muscles and he lurched forward, his hand grazing the ice in attempt to balance himself. A groan oozed from the audience but he collects himself quickly, telling his rapidly manifesting panic that Viktor’s routine was much worse than just a wobble of a knee. 

He can finish this. He can finish the rest without any more mistakes. He  _must._

The third wave of jumps came just as the music begins to end, he sweeps them off the routine against the protest of his muscles. Finally the violins sigh into a finale of a hush, Yuuri’s hand in the cold atmosphere, air tearing out and in of his lungs. 

Five minutes later, the scores flashed before the kiss and cry screen.

Yuuri’s short program went over Viktor's by two points. 

 

_*_

 

During the night, Yuuri and Tamara went out for dinner. 

The weather is chilly and crisp, people shuffling to and fro the streets in casually layered coats, veiling their mouths with breaths of fog. As they wove through prehistoric buildings the noises of the people grew, the sophisticated, baroque architecture slowly fading into looming skyscrapers that threatened to pierce the night sky. The moon hung in the canvas of black freckled with a weak twinkle of stars, casting a pearlescent glow upon the trees. 

Yuuri scolds himself for not appreciating the scenery six days earlier when he first stepped foot onto the Hague. Usually the places competitions were held were based in big cities like Tokyo or New York, which was a sharp transition Yuuri had to take from his quiet hometown. The bright lights coming from everywhere was staggering despite the fact that he faces that in the stadium during competition, but the massive crowds around the streets made it even more frightening for Yuuri’s insecurity. But the calming nature was never gone from the Hague, huge patches for trees or parks dotting Yuuri’s vision here and there. It reminded him of the small playgrounds in Hasetsu he used to visit as a dreaming child, the zephyrs whispering a lullaby of comfort on Yuuri’s ears and cheeks. 

He skipped alongside his coach, humming the tune for tomorrow’s free skate as Tamara orders hot chocolate from a stall. 

The satisfaction when he saw his name higher than Viktor’s was incomparable elation, all but too good to be true. Tamara had told him that people have gotten higher than him in short program, who were then completely toppled back by his free skate. If they didn't have the 'competition' on the public practice, Viktor probably would've won him easily. Still, it didn’t stop Yuuri from feeling invincible. Just for that night. 

They kept walking, breathing in the calm scent of sweetness from their cup of chocolate as the water vapour danced before their eyes. Tamara finished hers sooner, taking interest at an expensive looking boutique. Yuuri isn’t done with his yet and drinks are prohibited so he just stood outside, enjoying the small but consistent drops of warmth as they simmered in his stomach gently, listening to cars zooming past and sounds of chattering approaching and fading. 

A few minutes passes before Yuuri’s restlessness protests again. The thought of waiting for Tamara loosens from his line of thoughts and he skips away from the shop, dismissing his worry with a promise that he’ll get back in a bit.

It wasn’t the first time he explored a city alone, though rare despite coming into destinations a week before competition. In one of his qualifying events in Bangkok Tamara had drifted to sleep in a day trip tour bus, leaving him and a couple of other old couples to admire the temples nearby the city while she snored away. Which was ironic because Tamara was the one who had to drag him out of his cocoon of shyness. Talking to strangers took the strength of moving mountains, further worsened the wrecking guilt of not using every opportunity to train kept him locked inside his hotel room. 

But this time he feels proud. He hasn’t entirely defeated Viktor yet, but it was a promising start. 

He deserved whatever he could get his hands on now. 

After a visit to the dog shop, spending the rest of his cash on another hot chocolate that had roasted marshmallow on top and a visit into a gaming store, he wanders into a nearby park for a quick walk before he freezes. 

A familiar looking boy walks alongside a stubby man not too far away from him, silhouettes under the shade of the trees. If not for the glint of the silver hair Yuuri wouldn’t have known it was Viktor and his coach. He listens for a brief moment as they exchanged sharp syllables of Russian in a tone a father would towards an irritated son. A split second later he felt eyes locking on with his, igniting an explosion of panic. He didn’t know whether they were Viktor’s or the coach’s, but either one is enough to send him turning around and walking away. 

Except he didn’t know where he wanted to walk to.

He looked around, trying to recall any trace of familiarity around him. The shop Tamara had visited belonged to an urban jungle, filled with others shops just like it that were roots to looming towers. Now Yuuri stands by a crossroad with one road winding into darkness and the other turning back into the world of lights and metal, but he doesn’t recognise any of them. 

He's lost. 

He allows himself a moment of internal screaming. Both Viktor and the coach should be watching him now, wondering what is a fourteen year old doing in the middle of a city without an adult. He didn’t want Viktor to see him like a homeless puppy, not after he just gave his first slap of vengeance on Viktor’s perfect face. 

There are two choices he could make. One was to humbly turn around and ask his enemy for a phone or directions around the Hague and he would be perfectly fine. The other was to walk towards the into the unfamiliar like he knows where he’s going and end up getting even more lost. 

Obviously the latter seemed wiser. 

He walks casually into the streets, pretending to admire the city lights whilst gathering courage to ask a stranger for a phone number. Everything seems quieter and dimmer now that Yuuri’s heart was beating louder, as if it wanted to claim all of his attention, his footsteps frantic and rapid as he looked around. 

“Oi, kid!” 

A gruff voice pulls Yuuri to its direction, making him face a bald man in his early thirties, maybe the same age as Tamara. Only a thin looking singlet shielded the man’s impressive physique from the rawness of the weather as he sits on a wooden chair in a near deserted cafe, the moonlight kissing the array of tattoos that carved across the man’s tanned skin. 

“You lost?” 

“Y-yeah.” He said, a teenager giving himself in to a stranger who looked like a drug seller in the middle of nowhere thousands of miles away from his own country. 

_I am so smart._

Silence reigned between them before the man gestures a chair across him. 

There is absolutely no reason for him to sit down. But the amount of people outside had dwindled and sat within the shops, their view of this cafe layered by trees. It's literally and figuratively  _shady._ He could walk away right now, by the risk of either getting a phone or getting kidnapped. 

Yuuri sits down. 

His fingers played with each other. The man took out a cigarette from a box and drew out a match, lighting the end and putting the other between his dry lips. One puff, and they both watch the smoke fade into nothingness. The man offered the stick to the young boy, who quickly refuses. Still no phone. 

“You ran away from home?” He says. 

Yuuri could only shake his head. _Please give me a phone now._

“Did you forget to put on scent blocking soap?” 

Yuuri looked up. The man's eyes are strikingly emerald, like the Swiss boy who got third. 

Scent blocking soap was only for the omegas, who, according to Mari, exude individual fragrance wherever they go. It doesn’t smell like anything they can compare to in real life, but the smell attracted alphas instinctively, mostly ending in unfavourable consequences. 

He couldn’t be an omega. He came from a long line of betas and alphas, didn’t he? Besides, there is a standard procedure of development for secondary gender, and as far as Yuuri learnt the smell doesn’t come first if presented omega. 

“I-I’m not presented yet.” He clarified. “U-um, could you please lend me your phone?” 

The man ignored his previous statement, his other hand reaching out. For a second Yuuri didn’t move, and he realised his calloused fingers are going for his neck. “But you smell so sweet.” The man hissed, hunger saturated in every lick of his pronunciation.

A plethora of different kinds of fear freezes Yuuri’s body. He wanted to scream. He wanted to get out of the chair and smack it against the man and run back to Tamara. But all he did was crane his head a few centimetres away, delaying the contact just by a few seconds. 

_Help me._

“Excuse me.” 

Both of them looked up.

 

 

 

Viktor Nikiforov stares back at both of them, his silver locks whipping with the autumn wind like molten moonlight. Even when he was facing the back of the lights Yuuri could see the azure colours upon his shadowed face, looking at the man like a child who just saw his toy being stolen red handed by someone else.

Yuuri didn't know what else could make this moment worse.

"I've been looking for my friend for a bit. If you would excuse me, I'll be taking him now." He says coldly, the Russian English thick and dense and so jagged and so, so familiar. Red hot rage flooded across Yuuri's embarrassed face, and it took all the energy not to self implode from the worst dichotomy he has ever experienced in the world, of the gratitude of him saving him from a man who was potentially going to rape him, and the identity of his saviour. 

The man leans back to his chair, the hunger in his eyes dissolving into boredom as he blew another cloud of smoke into the atmosphere, like nothing ever happened. 

A pair of sharp, elegant hands rested on his shoulders, cold and solid but the Japanese had never felt so warm with rage before.  Without further thinking he leans forward harshly, feeling the Russian's cold grip leave his own body that is _his_.

"Looks like he's a bit reluctant." The man across sung croakedly, lifting his cigarette back to his lips. "Are you sure you know each other?"

Viktor grunted, shooting the Japanese a glare that could cut glass. _Do you want to get out or not?_  Yuuri didn't waste any time glaring back, but he rises from his chair, feeling insivible shackles loosen.

He turns around and walks away, away from the man, away from Viktor. He didn't bother to run.  

Soon he hears footsteps behind him, a messy sync of of two pairs of shoes against concrete pavement in the air. 

"Hey!" Viktor's voice echoed across the silence, causing another wave of anger slam against Yuuri's thoughts. "Where's my thank you, shithead?"

Yuuri stops walking, not turning around. 

But he really wants to. 

He wants to turn to the Russian and give him the brightest of smiles, telling him whatever that happened meant  _nothing_ to Yuuri, as if he is always meant to be saved eventually, that he would win tomorrow's free skate and the rest of the competitions for the rest of his life regardless of his enemy helping him. He wants to see the anger spread across his face, the same hurt and betrayal Yuuri had on his face a year ago, and everything would've been _perfec_ t. 

 But he just stands there, until the cold touch smoulders onto his shoulder and pulls, twisting his sight to face Viktor Nikiforov.

There is the same, amused smile in his face like the Japanese just challenged him to another fight, and Yuuri tried hard not to bash his head in then and there. 

 "Aren't you lost?" 

 "No I'm not." 

"Yes you are. You don't even know where you're going." 

Yuuri growled.  _So what? I'm still going to beat you._ "Shut up." 

He hears a sigh escaping the skater's lips as his shoulders slouch as he reaches back to retrieve a black cell phone, extending his arm across to the dark haired boy. Yuuri's eyes glow. 

"Just... just borrow this." Viktor's eyes looked away from him, his gaze to the ground unreadable.

For a moment Yuuri just stares at the grainy spread of moonlight on the midnight colour of the phone, listening to the crickets as they sang into the night. 

He took the phone gingerly into his hands, feeling his face burning again and quickly pressed for his coach's number. 

_Beep... Beep..._

_"_ Hello?" Tamara's voice sounded frantic, it was the most beautiful sound Yuuri has ever heard for the night. 

"Tamara!" 

"Oh Yuuri!" The woman shrieked from the other side of the line and Yuuri swore his eardrums exploded. "Thank God! Are you okay? I couldn't find you anywhere around the boutique! Where are you? Whose phone is this?" 

Yuuri silently swallows the strafing of questions. "I'm fine, Tamara. I'm at..." He trails off as he looks around for road signs, trying very hard to not return the look the Russian was giving.  

"Sterling Road? There's a park nearby, and I'm standing by a crossroad. And I'm using..."  _Viktor Nikiforov's phone._

"... A stranger's phone." He finishes confidently. Viktor doesn't say anything, just crossing his arms and giving him a look that was supposedly inscribing a message which Yuuri couldn't translate. Something flickered on Viktor's eyes, disappearing as quickly as it appeared, too fast for Yuri to place into words.

"Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can. Just stay put this time." Tamara's words rushed. Yuuri wanted to tell her to run as fast as she could, to save him from embarrassing himself in front of his former idol again, but before he could open his mouth the line ended, throwing him back into a silence beyond deafening. 

He had dreamed again and again, that the first words he would ever say to Viktor would be after he gets the gold, after he stands in the centre of the podium as everyone acknowledges their new champion. Now as the situation allows, his hopes are already in the dirt.  

"I'll be fine now. You can go." Yuuri manages to say through gritted teeth, handing the phone back to Viktor's waiting hands. He watches him tuck it into his pocket and remembers what the Russian said before. He drew a deep breath and breathes out,

"Thanks."  

_Because I'm nice. Because I'm polite._

Viktor opens his mouth for a second, as if to mention something. Then it closed again, replaced with a confident smirk. "See you tomorrow." 

Just like that, he turned around and walks away. 

*

Few minutes later he spots Tamara’s figure sprinting towards him and he runs, the two of them collide in a locking embrace Yuuri would never want to let go of. 

“Oh Yuuri, I was so terrified!” His coach whispered, tightening her arms around her pupil. “I’ve looked for you everywhere!” 

Yuuri recalled the hungry gaze of the man, the frantic irony of lost freedom and blinks hard, attempting to chase the tears away from his line of sight. He wanted to open his mouth and say that he was sorry, but all that came out was a huge bawl. 

They stayed in that hug for a long period of time before Viktor's confident smile flashed across his eyes, and he hugs Tamara tighter. He hadn't talked about the short program or even seemed grumpy about it, which Yuuri had been _craving_ for him to mention, just even a little bit. Disappointment is the refined term for what he's feeling right now, but he knew pettiness can only go so far. He didn't want to become as terrible as Viktor. 

 _But still._ He's so, so close to beating him now, and yet Viktor had _smiled_ at him like his route to victory was still unscathed, because he's the goddamn best.

He suddenly remembers what the man said to him, and a shivering sensation ran down his spine. 

“Tamara?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Do I smell sweet?” 

The alpha tore away from the embrace, incredulous eyes set on his. “No, why?” 

Yuuri beamed in relief, snuggling further into his coach’s arms. 

“Nothing.” 

He shouldn’t be worrying about something that can’t possibly happen. He’ll be an alpha or beta, through and through.

What he should worry about is the free skate tomorrow. The short program would be a opening, a weakness of Viktor. And he'll prod and tear at that wound, and the strike of luck everyone think it was would be a solid victory.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: Yuuri isn't salty enough so i had to. i actually really regret doing this midway, hope it wasn't too weird to you guys.  
> next edition: Yuuri gets a bronze :D  
> yes that was an intentional spoiler <3 more next update. I'm getting more and more inspiration(Thanks Taro Umebayashi <3) and my studies are getting smoother so I hope things work out better in the future when I'm easier with my words. 
> 
> sorry Chris fans for the painfully abrupt cameo 
> 
> also your feedbacks are amazing! ;3 if it weren't for you guys i probably wouldn't have the will to imagine hate between my two babies 
> 
> Music for Viktor’s SP: [ clicky clicky ](https://open.spotify.com/track/4pVkbv6Su6YI91l5WuplBf)  
> Yuuri’s SP: [ clicky clicky ](https://open.spotify.com/track/4P2NgfsPmuQLbhIJ2M5jRb)


	3. My yells, My screams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ BEFORE ADVANCING TO STORY:  
> I've edited the ending for Chapter 2, so please do backtrack and read it if you haven't before you go on. 
> 
> *pops out of grave* Heeeeeyyyy guuuuyyyysssss  
> Sorry for the long duration, i've been overwhelmed with a shit ton of assignments and hw and projects, and it's only in the first week of my second semester.  
> on a lighter note WHO'S READY FOR THE WEEKEND *pops champagne*  
> Thank you for all of the wonderful support! <3 I'll never be able to drag through this chapter without all of your beautiful comments. I've been really frustrated on my words and didn't know how to join them together and I'm really anxious on how you guys would react to this one.  
> Special shoutout to HappyFabulousManatee from FF for giving me words of support to push me through the end! :'D If you're into HunterxHunter or Naruto do check her out!

Yuuri stood at the lowest step of the podium, the cheers of the audience numb in his ears.

A heavy weight rests over his chest, solid and cold and bronze and so horribly real.

His eyes went to the ice, reeling in what just happened on the very place. It was like the first Grand Prix Junior Finals again; his triples turning into doubles, doubles into singles. He had threw out a quad jump in attempt to salvage more points, which went as well as the rest of the jumps. It was utter agony and chaos for that four minutes that Yuuri was relieved to get out of, but as he had heard the waves of approval as the music ended, he could feel his insides withering. Him and Tamara had sat at the kiss and cry which Yuuri confidently mistook for a seat of shame as the score displays, the Japanese decimal values away from getting fourth. 

It wasn’t like Yuuri had made his vow to get gold in front of everyone, but he could feel Viktor’s judging face on him, his confident smile filling him with so much humiliation and anger he wanted to melt right there on the spot.

Not only he hadn’t managed to best Viktor, he couldn’t even get a silver, which was usually his minimum for the events last year. He couldn’t even improve, and it made Yuuri’s throat itch in so much hatred.

Christophe Giacometti, the Swiss boy that went first in the short skate and who Yuuri had looked down less than a day ago waved to the audience with silver on his chest, his face torn into a face with so much happiness. Prideful Swiss flags swarmed around the area, chanting his name in pride. And then there is Viktor Nikiforov, standing the centre of it all, basking in the audience’s attention as the lights and praises all dawns upon him, arms raised and a grin dancing in his lips. Yuuri refused to look up at him, concentrating what’s in front; Russian flags being held high, the name and images of his enemy he used to post everywhere around his room scattered across the entire stadium.

 

*

 

He skipps the party after, going straight back to his hotel room to break down.

He had locked himself in the bathroom when Tamara went out to grab dinner. His self cursing echoed softly along the marble walls, as he sobbed as quietly as he could, watching his tears cool upon his knees. His coach had tried to comfort him on their journey back to the hotel, telling him that it was bound to happen, that those who had gotten higher had always been toppled by Viktor’s free skate.

“You’re only fourteen this year,” Tamara had cooed, her  fingers raking her pupil’s obsidian hair gently. “It’s only one event. You still have two more to go without Viktor, 孩子. You’ll definitely make it into the Finals.”

He had given her a smile, wishing he could tell her that her comforting worked.

He didn’t want to just make it into the Finals. He wants enter the Finals with a glorious series of accomplishment in his wake, something everyone would gush at, something Viktor would fall to his knees for. He wanted to destroy Viktor’s reputation within a year, to see it splinter and fall and to see Viktor looking up. To. Him.

_Pathetic._

The word snaked itself into Yuuri’s thoughts, pulling another cluster of emotions with it. They were cold, harsh, tearing his line of thoughts into the unknown, irrational darkness.

_Useless. You were supposed to do this in one year. You were supposed to make this perfect. You couldn’t. You couldn’t._

More tears pour out of his eyes uncontrollably as his breathing quickens, his heartbeat falling into a crazed pulse. He tries to push the thoughts back, but his rationality merely shoved it back with limp arms before the dread comes rushing back, more powerful than ever, smashing everything that wasn’t negative.

_You had to depend on luck to win the short program. Everyone’s so much better at you. Look at Christophe. Look at Tamara, look at the pity in her eyes. They’re all perfect, and here you are._

Yuuri leans agains the bathroom wall, his fingers shivering. _Stop._

_Why can’t you be perfect?_

Air became scarce in Yuuri’s lungs. He tried to take a deep breath, only to meet a different kind of pain swelling in his chest. It’s as if his body suddenly didn’t want his thoughts anymore, rioting and attempting to choke the soul out of him. Viktor’s scoff, soft but ever present whispered into his ear once more.

_Why?_

_Why?_

 

*

 

Yuuri breezes through the Salchow Cup, earning himself a gold medal and a pass to the Grand Prix Junior Finals. He hasn’t told Tamara about the anxiety attack he had faced in the bathroom a month ago, but thrill of back to standing in the middle of the podium had eased the mental illness slightly. 

 _Because Viktor isn’t here._  

Back in Hasetsu, Yuuko and Takeshi welcomes him back with open arms, telling him how proud they were when he ascended to the podium. His parents are too busy beaming at his bronze to realise it was an anomaly, showcasing it to their guests as they gushed at the medal that Yuuri had barely considered a prize at all. In a way a small burst of motivation blossoms, telling himself that the next medal that Yuuri’s parents would be showcasing is the gleaming gold.

As they resumed practice in Ice Castle, he begs his coach to stretch his quad jump sessions into a quarter of the session. Tamara doesn’t fight back, but is displeased when Yuuri insists on increasing the number of jumps for his new routine.

“I think you can score better in presentation,” Tamara crosses her arms. “You might have big stamina, but your jumps weigh you down a lot. The judges also pointed out that you have a talent in step sequences, so why are you trying to be better at something you aren’t good at?”

The last few words had burned into Yuuri’s head. He knew Tamara didn’t mean it that way, but Yuuri couldn’t help but compare himself with Viktor, who skated with both jump components and step sequences conquered. Being only _good_ at one side just made his newborn anxiety scream in sadistic satisfaction as it carved another mark in Yuuri’s ego. However he doesn’t say anything, only skating away to avoid letting his coach see the hot, fresh tears forming in his eyes.

His hate for Viktor is still there, burning and combusting fiercely in bloodthirsty revenge for the gold medal, but something else joins its dance; thorns of fearful dread that’s supposed to act as a cushion, but Yuuri knew it was a threaten towards himself.

He skates through the sessions emotionlessly, only concentrating on the jumps and the jumps only. If he has talent in step sequences that that can wait; he only wants to get better in the ones he wasn’t. The music had whispered and cheered for three straight hours, attempting to sway Yuuri’s mind into a haze of urge to dance with it. Instead disappearing into bland notes into his ears as all he thinks of is the next jump, and the next jump only.

Apparently it still didn’t help him much, because he still keeps messing up whenever his skates leave the ice and into the air. He couldn’t help but feel that Tamara was laughing inside as he crashes onto the matted cold surface for god knows how many times, allowing a curse word or a growl to escape his lips whenever he gets up.

“Don’t think too much about the jump!” His coach shouts across Ice Castle. “Focus on your centre of rotation! Keep note of your feet in second half of landing!”

Yuuri tries — _tries,_ to collect her words and piece them together to form a meaning out of it. He wanted to do it out of his own effort, and no one else’s, to at least prove to himself how much better Viktor is.

Eventually her advice got through him and his technique with jumps improves exponentially under Tamara’s expert (and pressing) guidance. Despite that he could now land 80% of his jumps and 30% of his quads, he still isn’t satisfied. He needs validation for all of his effort, but the next competition in the season would be the Grand Prix Junior Finals, his second standoff with Viktor Nikiforov. He needs to know that he is _better_ by then. 

There isn't a competition soon or around Yuuri's radius of convenience, the local ones insisting that he appears on the competitions as a guest skater knowing all too well that Yuuri would easily best all of them in an instant. But he didn't want to just be an extra. He wanted his skills evaluated, and the fact that they couldn't do just that angered and made him fear more than ever. 

Back home things weren't better. Even though he's a national skater he's still the son of a couple who owns a hot springs. When he wasn't at Ice Castle or ballet studio he would be in his room revising his routine until one of his family members call him down to help out with the business. Sometimes he's the cashier, sometimes a spice rack for his mother as she cooks, sometimes a waiter.

At first Yuuri had been fine with it. They were willing to cash out so much just for Yuuri to do what he likes when the government couldn’t, so it was the least he could do for them other than winning medals. But as the requests seem to grow and grow over the time, the chores getting more and more tedious, Yuuri couldn't help but think that they thought skating magically boosts his stamina at night. Each day was slowly gifted with a small token of pain; calloused fingers from scrubbing the floor, bruises from moving boxes the wrong way, cuts from maintaining the springs. Almost as if they didn't want him to concentrate on his skating, inhibiting him from achieving what he desires most.

Every time his mother or father calls him from his room the urge to not answer feels more and more tempting over time. But every time he still does, taking a deep breath and opens the door, sighing internally as he follows them downstairs to do another stupid chore. 

It really does feel horrible placing the people he love most on the pedestal of villains, but it felt so right. 

He thought he could hold it out until the Finals, after he has gotten the gold medal. He thought he wouldn't snap.

The late afternoon lavished itself with the warm, late spring wind, but Yuuri didn't bother. He had almost gotten the whole routine correct except for the final jump, which is a quad flip. It had been irritatingly called Viktor's signature move since the third time he successfully landed a quad, but Yuuri is determined to scratch the name off the list if he ever makes the jump. 

He had wasted more than a promised quarter of the session trying to master it, but every time something would go wrong; his feet would edge out of balance, his centre would go off, he would forget to use his feet to maintain his landing, and there was a weird soreness in his right foot which had flared at the start of the morning.

Then he realises it would’ve been a miracle if he didn’t get the soreness by digging out dirt at the onsen’s backyard all night.

By the time the staff and Tamara had to force him out he was tired, sweating and absolutely seething. 

When he reaches home he doesn't greet, simply tearing his shoes off and pressing them onto the rack with full force. Hiroko pops out of the kitchen, oblivious. 

"Yuuri, can you help me with the dishes? Kyoyo has gone for dinner." 

_Again._

He doesn't move, looking down at the floor. 

"Yuuri?" His mother prodded once more, and her tone _still_ innocent. Why doesn’t she know? Why doesn’t she _ask_?

"Leave me alone!" All the heads turn to his direction, the air turning icy cold. Hiroko stares at her son with wide eyes. “Wha—“

“Do you want me to win or not?” He lets out, cautious but every word still burning.

“W-well, dear,” The woman blinks. “Of course. What’s wr—”

“Then why are you making me do all of these things? Don't you see that I’m always tired after practice? I can’t even do a stupid jump now because of all of these chores!”

“Yuuri, I understand, but—“

He thinks of Viktor smirking at him from his throne of medals, the path of victory laid bare for him, flawless and straight, like all he is ever destined to do is skate and win gold. Then he sees himself standing in the middle of silvers and bronzes, plain and normal and his future a blur.

“You won’t!” He thunders and raced up the stairs, slamming his doors shut.

 

*

 

He walks down the stairs, each step heavier than the next. Hiroko lay at the edge of the family’s room, knitting with a blank face with Toishiya reading quietly at the edge. Yuuri swallows hard before entering, immediately kneeling in front of his mother.

“I’m sorry, Ka-san.”

He couldn’t make himself look up to see his mother’s expression, but when he felt warm, chubby arms wrap around him he could feel tears stinging his eyes.

“I should be the one who’s sorry, Yuuri.” She says warmly. “I won’t give you so many chores anymore, I promise.”

He thinks of his mother washing all the dishes herself and felt like the most horrible human being on earth.

The next day he changes his quad flip into a quad lutz.

 

*

 

The Grand Prix Junior Finals tumbles into schedule. Yuuri and Tamara flew to Belgium, arriving in fastened determination and high hopes. For the rest of the week the Japanese kept his head low, only taking trips to the rinks and restaurants and nowhere else. During the day before for the briefing, he could feel a pair of eyes in the crowd other than Tamara's, but he decided not to dwell on the possibilities. He came here not to interact with anyone else, not to make relationships or look down on anyone. He came here to do his best, and do  _the_ best. 

The day before the short skate Yuuri visits the local skating rink again. It’s barely Olympic size, but there is plenty of space for him to skate. At the corner he can see a few couples wobbling and falling into each other’s arms, one or two families teaching each other how to skate, colouring the atmosphere with laughter. To barely any surprise he finds Christophe and Viktor present as well, skating in the ice idly with their coaches sitting at the benches against the transparent walls of the rink. They live in the same hotel, after all and obviously they had to warm up before the big day. 

He forces his emotions off into oblivion and takes of his skate protectors, sliding into the ice. 

It wasn't the first time he had skated with his fellow contestants off competition times. In a way the Japanese is slightly disappointed, wanting to surprise Viktor with his program, but at this rate all he wants is just to see his defeated face at the medal ceremony. 

As soon as there is a visible clearing around Yuuri he plays the music for his new routine, letting his muscles tense as the sounds flow across his muscles. He starts, eyes closed and arms open for the unknown, and dances. 

Few minutes later the music ceased, and he opened his eyes to the entire rink staring at him, mostly in awe. Tamara claps her hands to fill the silence, which made Yuuri blush as heat rushed to his face. Aside from being in competition, he hates being in the centre of attention, a fact Tamara hasn’t absorbed properly yet. 

“Schön!” A voice called across the rink, deep but swelling in energy. Yuuri turns around to find the Swiss skating towards him, his thumb in the air and the rest of his fingers folding into his palm. “Your routine looked absolutely tiring, but so stunning!”

Yuuri’s cheeks flushed even redder. “Thank you.” He says quietly. 

“My name is Christophe Giacometti, but you probably already have heard of my name on the screen. People call me Chris.” A large hand reached out, and the Japanese wondered how puberty worked so fast for caucasians. He took it, giving him a stable handshake that he has trained for years ever since entering the professional world.

“And you’re Katsuki Yuuri, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes.” 

“Sooo, do I call you Katsuki, or Yuuri or —?” 

“Yuuri is fine.” The Japanese offers a smile. 

“Okay!” The blonde twirls around in a sharp circle before turning to face him agin. “So where did you come from, Yuuri?” 

His promise to isolate himself flew out before competition flew out of the window.

They skated to the edge of the rink to chat for a bit, and Yuuri felt even more vexed and embarrassed for looking down at him in the first place. He has an awfully vibrant personality, his face a canvas of emotions where colours could never overlap. Turns out they also share the same birthday, but that was where their similarities end. Chris had already presented as an alpha two years ago, a product of an omega and an alpha, but he didn’t act as dominant or demanding as any alpha Yuri have met before. Instead of ballet, he had grew up learning pole dancing, a term which Yuuri is completely oblivious of until the Swiss explained to him. The shocked faces of his fellow skater had rendered Yuuri laughing in both humiliation of not being in contact with adult things (They are fourteen) and out of humour for the hilarious facial features.

It was midway when Chris was telling him a story about the first time he got drunk with his alpha mother when he realised he hasn’t laughed this good for a solid year.He hasn’t talked to any of his competitors ever since he emerged a professional, initially due to his shy personality and later his paramount focus to beat Viktor. In fact, he hasn’t made any new friends in and out of Japan since the last Junior Finals. Yuuko and Tamara had complained about it, Takeshi teasing but Yuuri didn’t feel the need for extra friends to converse about unnecessary things when he could devote that time for practice. It felt good to finally have his chest weightless, but at the same time he couldn’t help but be worried for being this happy.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?” Yuuri looks up to find Chris’s hazel orbs gleaming in curiosity. “I think I did a great job introducing myself, now it’s your turn.”

“Well,”Yuuri awkwardly scratches the back of his head. “I-I don’t know, my life is pretty boring.” 

“Oh, please,” Chris folds his arms. “There has to be something interesting. Have you had your first kiss?”

Blood immediately rushes to Yuuri’s cheeks. “N-no.”

“Have you had a girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

“No.” He admits softly. 

“Oh, oh! How did you first get into skating? What made you turn professional?”

It’s a classic question to ask every competitive figure skater that, but Yuuri’s eyes merely flashed to the whip of silver hair whose owner is still practicing at the corner of the rink, last year’s memory replaying in his mind. Within a split second all the familiar pressure and anger he had missed crashed back onto his chest, wiping the smile off his face. Chris’s eyes follows the Japanese’s, though interpreting the gaze differently.

“Ah, I’m not surprised.” He chuckles. “Viktor is an inspiration to a lot of people, even though he has a…difficult personality.”

 _You can say that again,_ Yuuri mumbles inside his mind.

“Hey, he’s an inspiration for me too.” He places a hand over his chest, as if out of pride. “But now we’re friends, so it’s more of an exchange of ideas, or that’s what I hope it is. Have you talked to him?”

Yuuri fumbles with his fingers, unsure whether he should tell him the truth. Chris is a nice friend, and could empathise on how highly the Swiss looks up to Viktor. If he had told him that he had done _more_ than just talk to Chris’s idol… 

“I take the silence as you haven’t. You should! ” He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts across the rink, loud and clear. “VIKTOR!”

_NO._

A figure from a distance turns to face them. They felt like miles apart, but Yuuri can already feel the glaring blue eyes stabbing on his face. For a moment the Japanese could only stand and watch as the rising star glided his way across, his silver locks now bundled up into a messy bun, sweat glinting off the scar Yuuri had notched onto his fair skin. Without the winter wear to block his figure he could see that most of the baby fat hugging his body is gone, replaced with lean, firm muscles wrapped around black tights.

He stops in front of them, his lips in a reluctant frown. His eyes are mostly lingering on the Swiss, but Yuuri could feel a few split seconds that they dart towards him. “What do you want, Chris?” He growls.

“Well, I just want you to familiarise yourself with your fellow competitors, that’s all.” He drapes an arm around the silver haired boy’s shoulders like they were old friends, and Yuuri dies a bit on the inside.  “Katsuki Yuuri, Viktor Nikiforov. Viktor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri.”

Silence has never felt so heavy.

Viktor’s eyes landed on his, but this time they didn’t go away. Yuuri could see the summer sky through his eyes, but they stared back at him in a prying glare.  

“Ваше катание заставляет меня блевать.”

The Japanese’s brows furrows. Judging by Viktor’s deadpan expression it wasn’t something friendly, which Yuuri had completely expected. The violent side of him resurfaced once more, whispering restless heat throughout his body. It thrilled through his systems, calling him to run, flee, punch, shout—

An oblivious, hearty laugh cut through his chaos of thoughts, throwing him back to reality. “I have no idea what you just said, but I’ll take that as a start of a nice relationship between an idol and his fan.”

The side of the Russian’s lips curled into a mocking smirk, and Yuuri’s mental restraint falters ever so slightly, causing him to grip his fists.

“Say, you two.” Yuuri feels a firm hand grappling on his shoulder and before he could think he was pulled to Chris’s other side of his body, his arm secured around the dark haired boy’s neck. “Should we get a cup of something nice to drink before the competition tomorrow?”

“Sorry, I have to practice. Thanks for the complete waste of time.” Viktor said bluntly, gently taking the Swiss’s hands off his shoulder and skated away in a trail of white line. The remaining duo stare at his back, both gazes filled with efferent emotions. 

_I’m not worth his time. I’m only an obstacle for now._

Yuuri watches with wide eyes as the blonde alpha manages a smile, shrugging the rude comment away. “Ah well. He’s always like that. Shall we?”

“Actually,” Yuuri plasters a smile onto his own face, feeling his fingers throb at the excessive force he’s placing on his palm. “I have to stay for practice as well. I’m just here for a couple of minutes.” 

He is telling the truth. If he went out now he would feel horribly sorry for both Tamara and himself, especially after the Russian’s last comment. He wasn’t sure what it actually meant, but whatever it is, it only made the fire inside his chest burn brighter, the thorns shrivelling just a little. 

Chris pouts, a sight not to behold. "But that routine looked so draining. Shouldn't you be tired by now?" 

The Japanese shrugs, worn off the mood for conversation. "I'm alright." 

Then he skates away. 

 

*

 

The next day Yuuri stays behind in the warm up room with Tamara.

He had finished his performance on ice flawlessly, claiming first place for now. Outside the stadium explodes into cheering as Viktor enters the rink, but he doesn’t watch. 

Deep inside Yuuri chuckled out of irony. It used to be something he would kill for, to watch Viktor Nikiforov grace the ice with his inhuman skills. But now it would just be another layer of pressure on his shoulders, a horrible mixture of gushing or endless comparing. So he waits, running on the same spot despite being worn from doing so many jumps. Music blasted from both sides of his ears at maximum volume, but he could still hear the waves and waves of applauses from the audience that signified a successful jump, pulling his heart down bit by bit.

Finally, a final frisson of ovation came and Yuuri decides to slump against the wall, counting down the time till score results with the overwhelming sound of his heart beating.

 

*

 

He walks back with Tamara in silence to his onsen, listening to the birds as they danced with the late afternoon summer wind. The sun is hidden under the cotton mountains that the clouds have forged over the background of the brilliant blue sky, the weather warm as ever. It's in the middle of summer, after all, though Yuuri barely feels the heat on his scalp as the rays presses through. His eyes are down on the concrete pavement, his mind a mess. 

His coach had been ecstatic about the second place, which was a massive improvement from his previous position in the Finals. The media has also been roaring about him about the rise of a new star in figure skating, but Viktor's fandom rooted their place that as long as Viktor Nikiforov is competing he would always be first.

And being first is the only thing Yuuri ever wanted.

It was close, so close. Just a few points away, and he would've snagged the gold medal from Viktor's chest, throwing him off the throne and showing the world who is truly better. He had been perfect for all of his jumps, the first time his technical points had exceeded his presentation component by a staggering amount, which had lowered from his average. It slowly became a neck to neck battle between two thoughts when he stepped onto the podium: pride at getting better at his jumps or the regret of not refining his step sequences enough. 

Yuuri murmured his greetings when he enters home, to the cheering of his mom and dad. He tries to smile as his parents pats his back as they showered praises. Mari, who usually offers a pat on the head or a a hug, however is nowhere to be seen, but Yuuri couldn't really care at that moment.

He lost.

He spends the rest of the day at the gym nearby Minako’s studio attempting to distract himself from his anxiety but ends up storming out of the place with tears in his eyes again. He decides to shift his attention to skating but in the journey midway he meets Yuuko, who invites him to an outing with her friends.

“It’ll be fun, plus you look so sad nowadays.” Yuuko had said, melting her confident smile into a puppy face that Yuuri just couldn't deny.

Maybe a break would do the job.

Hours later Yuuri waited with Yuuko in a relatively lavish restaurant, dressed in the nicest clothes he could find in his wardrobe. He pulls the collar sleeve of his suit that he was supposed to wear to the Grand Prix Ball uncomfortably, surveying their surroundings. It's not common for her to choose such a place for just a meeting with friends, and judging by the redhead's barely contained excitement showing on her face she obviously planned something. He doesn't ask, simply trying to keep his attention from his competition as he listens to Yuuko talk.

The first person who joined the table is a girl who had screamed upon entering, prodding Yuuri for a photo which he awkwardly agreed to. The second is also a girl, followed by another and another with maybe a few guys, all asking similar things.  

Turns out during his obsession with defeating Viktor Japan had placed him under a spotlight of a celebrity, amassing a colossal fandom in Kyushu chasing over him whilst he chased for the gold medal. Yuuri glared at Yuuko scandalously, realising that this is just a trap for him to get overwhelmed by his own fandom. She didn’t reply, only giggling when Yuuri had to smile for the millionth time for the camera, the girls around him peppering questions nonstop. At first they were about his own life, his career, and for once Yuuri felt glorious basked in his own kind of fame, answering the questions in a bashful yet confident style. It isn't much, but it felr good to have tbe attention not on a certain Russian. Maybe this is the break that could get him to relax.

Then everything went south again.

“How is it like competing with Viktor Nikiforov?”

“Have you talked to him yet?”

“Oh my god Viktor is soooo coool! You’re sooo lucky!”

“He’s so good looking!”

_Viktor, Viktor, Viktor._

The ache from grinning too much disappeared, and the smile on his lips plastic. Of course. Even though he has a place among the leaderboards, all he ever is would be a passageway to the best of the best where all of the people truly wants to see; the gold medallist.

He’s nobody.

Yuuko took the hint of his fading smile and hauled him out of the pile of gushing fangirls(?), declaring it a bathroom break.

“Sorry for that,” Yuuko leans against the wall outside the restaurant, sighing. “Didn’t know the conversation would evolve till there.”

Yuuri offered her a small smile, tears welling in his eyes again. Despite the many months apart she still knew him well, and it made him feel even lesser and guiltier. “It’s alright. Thanks for inviting me though.”

A moment of awkward silence stretched across the both of them.

“If only they knew.” She said it, her voice suddenly wistful. Hollow.

Yuuri returns the smile.

_If only they knew._

That night he huddled up in his room, cocooning in darkness. He had stopped crying an hour ago, his swollen eyes just staring emptily at his laptop screen as Viktor’s golden routine for free skate replays for the third time. 

Even for the third time on replay Yuuri still hadn’t gotten over every second of his enemy’s performance, a small fragment of his former of awe for the Russian that irritatingly hasn’t went off. He couldn’t blame it though. Viktor had looked so vulnerable, so controlled under music but his grace had drafted waves of superiority over the audience, over him. He, as much as Yuuri didn’t want to admit, _deserved_ his attention. Deserved the gold medal, because Yuuri didn’t. 

A series of knocks disturbed his lost attention, sucking him back into the darkness of his room now with Mari leaning by the door. 

Judging by her new appearance, she must’ve went to the salon again. Her obsidian locks that used to graze her hind had been reduced to sharp curls that reached the back of her neck, her sun kissed skin hidden under the onsen’s red uniform. Her hazel eyes that Yuuri remembered gleaming in alpha pride were now dimmed to boredom and something else.

“Mari nee-san.” He greeted politely as he closes his laptop.

“Yuuri,” She greeted back. “Can I come in?”

Yuuri nods promptly, and she proceeds to settle herself on his unmade bed, curling amidst the mountain of duvet and pillows as she props her chin atop her knees.

“Congratulations on the silver medal.” She finally says.

Yuuri inhales. “Thanks.”

There is an awkward pause in the room. Through the open door he could hear the muffled sounds of the TV downstairs, the sharp yells of one of Mari’s workers barking orders.

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t know whether I should’ve asked you this earlier, but… is something bothering you?”

Yuuri turns around.

Usually Mari would just come in for a random chat, which Yuuri would be content to entertain. They weren’t exactly close and lovey dovey, but they stayed in a verbal relationship which was ambiguously solid, something he would bet his life on to trust. When they talk it’s always about the little things, like the small gossips about onsen workers, her friends. It’s almost as if she was ranting out the things to Yuuri, but he didn’t really mind. He’s never good at keeping a conversation alight with his own words, being skilled at just listening, empathising and nodding curtly.

Occasionally his sister would turn the conversation around to his, but even then its usually about the people around him, life outside Japan, et cetera et cetera. She has never asked her brother about their personal thoughts and feelings, never about the torn wallpapers on his room, something Yuuri had assumed had been a rule between them which he appreciated even more now due to the chaos happening inside his mind.

That is, until now.

“Usually you would be happy whenever you came back from Ice Castle, or from any skating competitions. Then the first Grand Prix came, and you just started acting… down.”

_Stop._

“You cried in tou-san and ka-san’s arms. I didn’t want to say anything about it, then after your qualifying event with Viktor you broke in front of them again. They’re getting more and more worried, Yuuri. They never wanted to say anything, because you’re so concentrated in your ice skating stuff. Then you got your silver medal, and… I thought that would cheer you up, but you’re still gloomy as ever.”

She shuffles uncomfortably in her position. “I know ice skating means a lot to you, but nowadays I don’t really see that. It’s like it’s just pulling you down, and I’m worried, Yuuri. The way you skated on ice… it’s like you hate it. Have you tried, y’know… leaving the rink?”

_Leave._

_Retire._

_Go back to a normal life._

Viktor’s words pounded at him in a force like never before, giving him enough courage to glare at her.

“Why would you say that?”

“What?” Mari snapped her head to his direction, as if she didn’t expect him to reply.

“Why would you say that I hate skating?” He rasps, heart against his throat. “You’ve supported me for such a long time, and now you’re telling me to retire?”

“No! That’s not what I meant!” Mari held her hands in protest. “I’m just saying you should take a break! I mean it’s natural for stress to come upon national level athletes, but yours look a bit unhealthy—“

He didn’t let Mari finish, hauling his bag of skates and sweeping it onto his shoulder before he storms out of his room, slamming the door with a thunderous _BANG._

 

*

 

There are little things Yuuri is good at. Initiating a conversation would take the strength to move mountains. His attempts at drawing were like the product of a drunk elephant with a pencil in his trunk. He would slip and fall for the nth consecutive time even after looking at where he’s going, causing his classmates to giggle and tease.

But then he’ll retire from school and enter the ice rink, feeling ice against his skates, feeling alright again. 

That is, until now.

He’s not really sure anymore.

It was already 6 in the evening, an hour after the shortened opening sessions for the skating rinks during public holidays. Not that the peak time did any significant effect on their tumbling business.

He knocks on the glass door politely, retrieving Takeshi’s attention to unlock it. Yuuko is nowhere to be seen, probably still in the outing with her girlfriends.

“I was in the middle of cleaning up,” The older boy grumbles as Yuuri stumbles his way to the locker room.

“Ah, _tsumimasen_.” Yuuri said emptily, dread freezing his steps. “Should I go out now?”

Takeshi looked down on the floor, his hands aligned on each sides of his stubby hip. “No, it’s alright. Go straight ahead. I’ll wait.” He grunts. Yuuri shot him a polite smile at his rare token of kindness, murmuring his thanks before he proceeds to wear his skates.

The weak evening sunlight filters through the blue, narrow windows of Ice Castle, basking the expanse of ice in front of Yuuri in a gentle, welcoming glow. The dust danced with the air, coloured a soft azure. He took in the scene impatiently as he pulled out his skate protectors, wasting no time to enter the ice.

It wasn’t relief or the bliss to be where he belongs, but the customary surge of pressure that washed over him as he felt the familiar sketchy noise of metal against ice, but he discarded it angrily.

 _One year._ Deep inside Yuuri the voices chuckle, telling him again and again one year isn’t enough to beat Viktor Nikiforov. Sure enough his harsh practice gave him the power to shoot past the expectations of his fears, the glittering silver medal that is now in his trophy room a solid proof. But he didn’t want silver. He wants something that gets snatched out of his grasp again and again, getting hung on someone who he hates so much like it belonged there. Like he’s forever good enough.

_The way you skated on the ice… it’s as if you hated it._

He held in a breath and flew into he air, his skates turning into a tornado of light. It’s almost natural to start off his skating sessions with jumps ever since he was determined to raise his technical points, but this time it was fuelled with frustration and the begging for validation, the confusion of where he went wrong. 

_Why would you say that?_

Of course he loved skating. Of course he loved being on the ice, being able to feel the smoothness of the ice against his blades. Of course he loved the reward of being able to soak in the attention and praises of the audience, to feel for once that he isn’t as invisible as he thought he would be. It was the reason he was willing to go professional in the first place. Which part of his skating made her think that he hates it?

The triple axel landed perfectly, but Yuuri didn’t feel any relief. It’s what he’s supposed to master if he wanted the exceed, to be better than _him_.

_There has to be a way to beat him. There must be._

He went from jump after jump, each with diminishing levels of succession, again and again, aiming for perfection and perfection alone until his legs gave out. Finally, his skates touched the ice the wrong way and he jerks forward, pain exploding on his side as he made contact with the cold hard ground.

He tries to wrap his fingers onto the ice, wondering whether Viktor had felt like this before, in raw, painfully invigorating frustration and so, so much self-hate.

Probably not.

After his hind started hurting from sitting on the cold surface for a long time he forces himself up and skates to the end of the rink where the speakers would be, deciding to add music to his practice. He takes out the file of CDs where he usually stores his music for his routines and randomly inserts one, hoping it would be something he would feel like skating to.

As he skates to the centre of the rink, the rapid tantrum of piano keys filled the air. Yuuri’s eyebrows cock.

It's his free skate [music](https://open.spotify.com/track/6mhtjlYdbceFnMlRfkbsQu) for his very first professional competition; the Japan Junior Championships.

A small flicker of irritation boils. It’s not an awfully demanding routine, but he couldn’t be bothered to change the song into something that could quell his thirst for the difficulty. Plus there wasn’t a lot of jumps in between, so he should still have plenty of energy left after this for a more proper one. 

 _I’ll just do this for fun,_ He thinks as he casually catches onto the beat with the memorised movements. 

The tempo slowly became evident, cascading into a hopeful crescendo. Yuuri recalls his choreography easily, concentrating hard on what moves are coming next.

Before he knows it memories flow through his mind, the song of the piano continuing in its repetitive yet building tune.

_It was the first day of being a student to a professional, Grand Prix medallist. Tamara had Yuuri undergo a series of cardio exercises to test his strength, and now they’re in the Ice Castle starting their new routine. At the periphery of his vision he can see Yuuko and Takeshi leaning over the fence, their eyes glowing in interest as Tamara drones on about the protocol of the competitions._

_“I’ve been thinking of this routine for quite a bit now, but I’ve cancelled some jumps in between for you.” She said as she retrieves a CD from her bag, slotting it into the speaker. Yuuri watches anxiously as the music enters his ears and his coach adulates from jump to jump in grace and passion, her body raptured in a moving art that coloured Yuuri’s awe in swirling dashes. He couldn’t expect any less; she won in the Grand Prix Finals, after all._

_The song ends, and Tamara slides out of the ending position. A smattering round of applause echoes across the rink from the couple by the side._

_“Your turn now.” She smiles. “Try to copy my moves as much as you can. Don’t hesitate to add your own.”_

_Yuuri’s blood froze and he proceeded to fumble with his fingers. “I-I… I don’t think—“_

_“Gambatte, Yuuri!” Yuuko and Takeshi chorused. “You can do it!”_

The violins swells in volume alongside the running rhythm of the piano, and Yuuri prepares for his first jump.

Triple toe loop.

Double loop.

_It was the night before the competition, a full moon hanging in the endless abyss of darkness._

_“Guys, I think I just saw Yuuri-kun’s name!” Mari exclaimed across the onsen. Within a split second said person scampered his way into the common room, crashing into the couch in front of the TV where two old men had sat. He rapidly fired his apologies, not bothered to look at the frustration contorting on their faces as his vision snapped to the constricted screen in front. Sure enough, a picture of him skating mid session was in the top right corner of the grid, alongside other competitors for the Junior Championships as the reporter in the news station droned on._

_He’s on TV._

_He widens his eyes in disbelief before letting out a sound that resembled something between a girlish squeal and a squawk._

_There was an awkward silence before the entire room burst into laughter at the noise. “OH MY GOD WHAT WAS THAT?” Mari managed to squeeze out before bending over to entertain the ache in her stomach, tears filling her eyes. “You sounded so much like oka-san when she was younger!” His father had chuckled between sips of sake._

_Furious red flooded his cheeks._

_Hiroko slaps the both of them on the back, her lips a scolding frown. “Stop it, you two!” She proceeds to offer her son a thumbs up. “Yuuri, don’t mind them. Just don’t be nervous for tomorrow, okay? We know you can do it.”_

_That night he ran to the Ice Castle, screaming out his humiliation to practice with the music the second last time._

He falls into a sit spin, feeling the rhythm thrumming in his veins, transforming every flame of frustration into thrill as the memories that were so fond rushes through his mind. Slowly he realises that he was no longer completely in control.

Triple Axel.

His feet barely grazes the ice.

Triple Lutz.

_Yuuri spared another glance into the arena outside, only to shrink back at sight of the monstrous crowd cheering at the skater in the centre. His heartbeat had now echoed loudly in attempt to match the volume of the stadium, his heart the verge of exploding._

_He had his faire share of competitions before, but none of the crowds had this many people. It was the internationals after all. He was no longer competing with his own country, but with the countries close to it, some maybe thousands of miles away._

_A firm hand patted his gelled back hair. He looked up to see Tamara offering him a warm smile. “You’ll do fine. Just concentrate on the rhythm.”_

_A man popped up from the door, dressed in grey staff attire. “Katsuki Yuuri?”_

_It’s his turn._

_He nods at the man and follows him out, exposing himself to the splatter of colours and lights across the audience, some carrying the red and white flag of his home country. His eyes darted everywhere, finally landing on a spot where a group of red uniformed people cheered, his parents holding up an embarrassingly large poster of his home with him in the background._

_A small, shy smile made its way into Yuuri’s panicking expression, and for a second the weight on his chest seared off with warmth._

_He can do this. For Yuuko. For Otou-san and Oka-san. For Japan._

_He takes off his skate protectors and enters the arena to dance with the music one last time._

The drums cuts into the sonata, joining the chaotic harmony of the quickening climax as the music rushes off the cliff and—

Silence.

Maybe it was the fact that he had danced with this song so many times that he had formed a bond with it. Maybe it was all the thoughts that sprouted all over his brain as he tries to rapture himself into the song, weaving his happy thoughts as the violins, drums and pianos had raged, putting the memories where he had felt down into the emptiness after the crescendos. He recalls as he tries to concentrate on the things familiar around him; his friend’s screams, the huge poster, the buildup of his music that he had danced to for so many months.

The piano broke the poignant soundlessness, reviving in small, sparse pair of notes. Yuuri roams through the ice rink, his spread arms heightening into an arc as he lowers onto the ice. Slowly it fledges into a rapid fluttering of the tunes once more, like a spark of hope amongst the swarming despair. Yuuri’s hand rises slowly up into the air, a beckon the heavens. The beat grows and grows, and his movements quicken to match its surge of warmth, feeling its triumph as it conquers the darkness, every string and every key in the orchestra in tandem in celebration.

_“And that was a phenomenal performance from the new skater, Katsuki Yuuri!”_

_The whole arena had burst into a standing ovation, too loud, too bright for Yuuri to register. A female voice called his name, and he turns to his new coach, her eyes glittering in pride._

_“Well done, Yuuri.”_

The piano keys still rage, the violin now in solid, emotional streaks.

The Japanese’s speed still consistent, still trapped in a dream.

It’s when the song descends into one last stretch of a key, when Yuuri’s arms were splayed out wide to embrace the emptiness, that he realised he hasn’t felt this alive in months.

Everything that felt so real, so right rushed to him all at once. 

 _I'm sorry, Mari._ _You were right._

Within a split second he turns around and skates out of the rink, almost twisting his ankle as he trips on the rough vinyl carpet. Not that he really cared. He grabs his bag, impatiently thrusting the skate protectors back onto his skates and sprints for the exit. 

"So fast?" Takeshi shot his junior a perplexed look. Yuuri stopped for a while and bared the most genuine grin in months before rushing for the exit, barging into the quiet evening and back to his home. 

He burst through the bamboo doors which suddenly looked too fragile, flinging his shoes into the air to his sister’s wide eyes. She opens her mouth to say something, but her brother is already busy sprinting towards the dinner table, where Tamara sat examining some documents.

The Chinese shrieks slightly as the boy dives into a seat across his coach, but when she sees her student's steely expression her mouth closes. 

“I want to make a new routine for the World Championships.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next edition: the chapter all of y'all have been waiting for 
> 
> Schön: "Beautiful" in German  
> 孩子: "Child" in Simplified Chinese (HA SUCK IT MOM I WROTE THAT MYSELF STIL GOT THAT CHINESE GIG GOIN)  
> Ваше катание заставляет меня блевать: "Your skating make me vomit" in Russian 
> 
> Sorry if I bored you guys there. I just wanted to instil more emotions into Yuuri for the oncoming plot that I've prepared for him. Poor boy. <3  
> I'm trying to make a schedule to post a new chapter every week, but I'm not too sure since I'm determined to put most of my effort into studies. A levels isn't a joke xD  
> good news is i've already written ample amount of words for the next chapter, so all that's left is to edit and maybe add a few parts and maybe rewrite the entire thing ok nvm there is no good news just stay tuned ;)  
> Don't worry, I'll definitely post the next chapter cuz things get more exciting from there.  
> How has your week been? Let me know in the comments so I can potentially share my misery with you :DDDD 
> 
> Yuuri's FS for Japan Junior Championships: Yuri!!! on ICE by Taro Umebayashi (i've listened to this for so many times i didn't even need to refer to Spotify anymore) 
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcomed!


	4. My hopes, My dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three times Yuuri chokes and none of them the reason you think it is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pops out of grave for the second time*  
> AHA  
> YOU THOUGHT I WAS DEAD DIDNt U  
> IN FACT I AM  
> ...  
> *sobs*
> 
> its fuckin 1am here (i'm a morning person ok don't judge pls) and i can't read my own fic for shit but have it anyway 
> 
> First of all, thank you so much for all those responses! I'm really touched although they only lasted for a while, but I've managed to crawl forward to finish it off (Credits once more to HappyFabulousManatee from FF -- seriously if u're not a HunterxHunter/Naruto fans why aren't u checking her out NOW)  
> Also sorry for late update ;_; here's an extra 3k words or 4k i lost count lmao  
> Sooooooo I had a really tough time for these two weeks internally, so I had been really anxious while writing this chapter. In a way I had been feeling a kind of writer's block, but I'm not sure because I've actually been able to move on with my words, I guess???  
> Midway through I accidentally forgot to save my stuff so I had to rewrite some of the parts and yeah they're not exactly the best condition since i never edit them while writing but neither were the past chapters lmao  
> Eh enjoy( I guess?)

_15, 17_

 

The World Championships is the second most prestigious competition aside from the Winter Olympics. But since there isn’t a section for juniors, it makes the Junior Worlds _the_ most prestigious competition for anyone below 15. 

They had received the news in joy; Tamara had shook hands with everyone who entered the onsen with the most disturbing chuckle her student has ever heard in his life, tackling him into her muscular arms and swinging him around while his parents and Minako took pictures.  

Yuuri had smiled as well, but his was carved out of sheer relief. Sure, he had dreamed every night of looking down at Viktor in the podium with a vicious smile in three competitions, but now options were limited _._ The qualifying events and the Finals  of Grand Prix Junior weren’t hard to enter with the debilitating handwork Yuuri had engraved within his bones, but the Worlds is another league that Yuuri had to overcome. Especially after two failed attempts in beating Viktor, he needed the third chance more than ever, to face him one more time before he advances into the senior division. 

The ranks required to enter are staggeringly high, and the Japanese had to salvage every single point he could get to clamber up the scoreboard to satisfy the harsh criteria. Getting a bronze instead of a silver had pulled down his chances drastically, flooding Yuuri with so much dread that he had broken down in his room more than a few times, wondering whether Japan would even want to glance at his achievements when they have so many other they could pick.

But they did. 

Still, the fact that Viktor was already able to enter the Worlds on three months after his first Grand Prix Finals only sprayed salt onto the wound, but his endless comparing had steeled his resolve even more. He might not be able to have such a legendary debut, but he promises himself that his future would be far brighter than Viktor’s, and he’ll make sure everyone would forget about Viktor’s achievements once he emerges top. 

 

*

 

Yuuri breathes in the salty air, leaning forward on the rusty fence that divided him from the ocean. 

The afternoon sun hangs high in the cloudless sky like a golden ball, casting harsh rays of light upon the stretch of deep blue that sparkled endlessly, the sound of the waves lapping onto the bay whispering a soothing melody into his ears. Behind him the life of the morning market dims, leaving a handful of customers bargaining for leftovers as the owners leave hurriedly for refuge from the heat.  

Minako leans along beside her student, her thin lips compressed into a pout. 

“Of all places to gaze out, Yuuri.” She grumbles as she fumbles through her handbag. “You know the sunlight’s bad for my skin.”  

“I just wanted to see the sea for a bit.” He mumbles. 

“Mmm?” He feels her gaze frozen on him. “What is it that you’re thinking right now? Viktor? Worlds? Yuuuuko?” 

Yuuri chokes. 

They had recently finished their ballet session, deciding the quell the growls of their stomach with outside food. It’s rare for them to have meals anywhere other than Minako’s house or his parent’s, since there isn’t really much to complain about when it comes to their cooking skills. Yuuri had been surprised when he tasted heaven in his ballet teacher’s home cooked satay, having the notion that she wasn’t good at anything other than dancing, something he still is terrified to disclose to her. 

In terms of relationships the Japanese surprisingly finds him having a deeper bond with Minako compared to Tamara. Being one of the few rare, good natured and patient alpha, his skating coach had always respected his boundaries, adapting quickly to his personality like dough. Unlike his sister who requires all the attention in the world when she faces rough situations, Yuuri prefers to stay alone and sort things out by himself and Tamara had done just that without him needing to ask, a trait he is eternally grateful for. 

His beta ballet instructor on the other hand is the traumatising opposite. She had dug out every single detail she could out of Yuuri’s younger life through uncomfortable interrogations mid session ever since their very first practice, the remaining through an extremely willing Hiroko and a couple of family scrap books. For the first few weeks Minako would pepper him with questions he didn’t remember giving her details of, like how is his dog is called Vicchan, or about his crush on Yuuko. Fortunately she doesn’t leak any of them out of the circle of two of them, which had literally made the whole situation look like blackmail, until the brunette slowly reveals things about herself as well. Turns out she actually had been in a rivalry with another ballerina during her journey as a Prima as well. From what she had described the relationship wasn’t as bloodthirsty as Yuuri’s,  but for the first he doesn’t feel lonely in his world filled with hate. 

“Nothing much. Just… felt like it.” He’s actually telling the truth. The amount of techniques Minako had taught today had multiplied, leaving him absolutely drenched in enervation. 

“Keep telling yourself that.” The woman gloats, unbelieving, before turning about to look at the market. Something glimmers in her eyes, instinct when she finds something interesting. “Hey, I’ll be looking around here for a bit. Take your time, yeah?” 

The boy nods and she saunters away, leaving Yuuri alone with the ocean. 

He twirld around with the balls of his feey, ready to follow when flash of yellow and red catches his eye. His neck cranes for a better look, spotting a rather large book being being hurriedly wedged in between newspapers in front of a small coffee shop. Curious, he walks across the road to take a better look.  

The book stares back at him in bold white Japanese kanji with the words _Russian!!! for Beginners_ printed on the yellow paperback, the backdrop decorated in red comic message bubbles of an odd squarish shaped lines Yuuri presumes to be Russian. Intrigued, he flips the book open to an explosion of colours and cartoon characters conversing through more Russian and Japanese. 

Suddenly the alien words Viktor had spat at him echoes in his mind, sending a rush of spite into his thoughts. He scoops the book up.

He hated the feeling of not knowing anything Viktor had said, expanding the gap of skills between him and Yuuri more than he has tolerated. Sure enough, the Russian probably wouldnt’ know any Japanese cuss words Yuuri could’ve fired at him, but that would just make them even. At that moment he realises that he didn’t want to even him out in just skating, but everything else within Yuuri’s abilities. He wanted to be better in what Viktor is good at and what he couldn’t be good at.  

Besides, it’s good to know your enemy better, right? 

He leans back cautiously, his vision skirting to the right. Minako is now meters away from him barking at a defeated looking man, seemingly too busy to look at her student. He grabs the book firmly and proceeded to the counter as soon as possible.

As soon as the book reaches his hands as his he feels a rush of excitement, immediately slipping it into his bag and out of sight. 

“Yuuri!” Minako’s high pitched voice broke his attention and he turns around, finding the brunette standing across her with her hands on her hips, the man disappearing into the shop. “Time to go back!” 

“Hai!” He shouts back and starts running towards her. 

 

*

 

English and Japanese are the only languages Yuuri is fluent in, speaking the former while in competitions and with his coach, the latter off ice. Ever sine Tamara appeared in his life he also starts picking up little phrases of Chinese through little assumptions, like when she praises Hiroko’s food(好吃!) or when she complains about the cold(冷死了). Time to time Yuuri does hear her fire out paragraphs of her native language through the phone, but he had never bothered attempting to decipher anything, too busy thinking about his routines. 

Learning something entirely else after living with the two languages for six years troubles Yuuri slightly, but the cause for it, the fantasy of shouting at Viktor from above in his own native language in his native land, sounded beyond rewarding. 

After a wearing day of training he would plop back onto his bed and scan the insides of the book, attempting to absorb anything he could through his tired mind. As they days pass his reading nook shifted to his desk so he could trace out the words, a typical asian method to remember but works nonetheless. 

Then weeks pass and he could write out basic sentences, but Yuuri knows it’s not enough. He visits the media shop midway walking home, hoping to find something that would help his oral speaking since he couldn’t verify his pronunciation through anyone. 

To his relief there are a few Russian CDs in stock which he bought them all, trying hard to ignore the odd look the cashier gave him. 

He had rushed home that day, barely containing his excitement as he waits for his parents to sleep before stealing the disc player from the common room and into his room. Turns out they are all songs, most of them either slurred or so fast paced Yuuri had almost given up trying to translate a single word. 

He eventually lands his hands on one proper tutorial disc from another media shop and grinds out the most he could out of it, but without the fast-paced tempo and music distorting the voice Yuuri could only hear Viktor in the familiar, sharp accent when the man speaks, causing the learning process to stump. 

Of course, he kept the whole process as discreet as possible. Sometimes a word or two of Russian would accidentally slip off his line of thoughts and out of his mouth, causing his coach and friends to look at him funny. No one really said anything about it, but it only caused Yuuri to worry more and more as the days pass, fearing for the day for someone to finally uncover his secret. 

Still, silence. 

 

*

 

On the day of the short skate Yuuri and Tamara cruise along the streets of Sofia, Bulgaria towards the stadium. The air was cold and dry, hissing at Yuuri’s skin threateningly, but the Japanese fared no care. 

They enter the stadium, hearing the muffled noises of the crowd from backstage as they cheer for warmup. Yuuri had chosen not to attend it, finding more peace in private skating sessions and the terrified of the flush of anger that blinds him when he sees a certain skater. 

As he makes his way to the changing room he passes Viktor’s coach, who mumbles on the telephone in his native language which Yuuri gobbles up enthusiastically. Out of the few seconds of eavesdropping he could only make out “two costumes” and “son”, but it’s more than enough to make him smile. He covers it with his mouth, feeling it turn giddier and giddier. 

He still has no idea what half of those words Yakov had meant, but then again he had only been learning it for three months. He’ll get there slowly. 

As long as he’s ahead of Viktor. 

He slips into his costume and waits in the room he was given, doing his usual warm ups and flexes. Tamara sits on a bench in the corner, offering words of comfort and last minute advice, but all he could hear is the opening event rage, the wild thunderous music filtering through the walls of his room as it drowns Yuuri’s remaining calmness.

Soon the melodies ended with a deafening round of applause, piecing another block of anxiety to his heart. 

The Worlds are starting.  

After the opening speech the Japanese finally decides to get out of the room to watch his fellow competitors. He makes his way out into inner part of the stadium, ensuring each step is as slow as possible as he enters into the mercy of the bright lights. Rows and rows of people scream and clap, filling the cold air with the heat of competition as the first contestant enters, his hand high up in the air. 

There’s no denial that his soul of competition is only zoned onto beating Viktor, but he couldn’t help but frown as he feels himself swept away into the current of the music the first skater is dancing to. It never properly sunk into him that the people who now stand at the centre of the rink are the prime of the country, handpicked from thousands of other skaters. 

They are no different than him; dedicating all of their soul and time onto the ice in effort to reach the very top, the routines they perform on the rink the products of so much hard work and passion with each of their own breathtaking beauty. This is a competition with the best of the best, his mortal enemy right on the top of them all. 

Against the white of the ice Yuuri suddenly notices the colours of country flags popping out from the array of audience’s clothes, but the only obvious thing to him is the red, white and blue stripes of Russia and horribly humongous posters of Viktor. He grips his fists as he catches them grinning, some small posters even scribbled _Just give Viktor the gold already_ on them. 

The fury overwhelms him once more. He hates it. He hates every single person who thought that Viktor is the greatest person in the world, hates the narrow mindedness of them who thought only Viktor would win, who carried him up to that untouchable throne where people can only skate as good as him. He pins the vow to his mind even harder than before, the confidence in his practice boiling back up into his muscles as he crosses his arms with the most effort possible. 

He’ll win. He’ll end this ridiculous dominance Viktor thinks would last forever, and wipe the cocky smile off his face as he realises that he is no longer the best.

His turn is second last of the batch, two places after Viktor. He tries hard not to show any emotion as the silver haired boy enters the rink, much to the hollering of the crowd as they welcome the main attraction of the competition. 

A mesh of the darkest blue engulfs one half of his torso that barely covers his chest, the other layering in a cataract of blue glitter, layered in satin of the lightest azure till the tip of his fingers. His hair is slowly going out of control, the majority of his locks tied back into a silver whip as obvious strands of hair decorates his delicate, plastic face. The Russian smiles, spreading his arms to the heated welcome as he makes a small round across the ice before taking his position in the centre. 

Once he becomes perfectly still, every sound in the building cools to a hush. 

The strings of melody flood the stadium, leaving Viktor in a dance for two with the thin air. He pivots an arm from his side slowly upwards, as if to call something from the clouds. Gently, gracefully. The cold, hateful demeanour had melted away, replaced with a tender longing of a lover in his eyes. 

A cascade of violins spill in and he sways gently, holding the air around him lovingly as if his lover is there, dancing with him, slowly. The spell of the song slowly saturates the atmosphere, thick and heavy and even Yuuri feels the warmth crawling into his heart. Then as quick as she had been there, his partner is gone in a violent, sharp swipe of a hand. 

The music intensifies Viktor’s movements flows with it, exaggerated and forceful, his body exhibiting the sadness in the song with fluent debonair. The dance merges with the slow rhythm, his movements and the notes of the orchestra together forming a story of a woman who had lost her lover to the deep seas. 

He leaves the ice into the air for his first jump and lands beautifully before going for another, a transition of  inhumanely buttery motion to the applause of the audience. The skater’s expression contorts, paining into one of a loss and it looks so real, as if he knows how painful it is to lose a someone you love so much. Every movement is long, sweeping, controlled, completely void of pace. 

It’s as if he had transformed fully into the heartbroken woman, baring her soul for the entire world to know of her misery. The audience had drank it all in, singing the lyrics for the violin cover as the second half came and go. The entire place is so thick with emotion that Yuuri isn’t really sure whether the judges had bothered to check for any error. 

The music fades into a long stretch of the violin, allowing Viktor to grieve in only a whisper of a moment before the entire stadium explodes into a massive wave of applause, tokens of appreciation raining from all sides onto the ice. The Russian breaks from his masquerade, a smile snaking into his lips as he sweeps down for a long bow. A synchronised chant of a name fills the air, growing louder and louder until Yuuri’s knuckles turn white as he grips the edges of his seat. 

The scores blink into view, the Russian’s name on the top of the list with numbers Yuuri can only dream of. At the far distance at the kiss and cry he can see Yakov grinning, but only a faint smile appears in Viktor's lips. 

“Viktor Nikiforov has beat his personal best once more! What a stunning performance from this prodigy as usual!” 

“Yes, Finn, he is definitely something the senior division would have to look out in the future!” 

Yuuri’s lower lip withdrew into his teeth, grinding on the words that just echoed across the stadium for everyone to hear. It would take only a stubborn fool to say that the routine was terrible. It had been beyond alluring, even he grudgingly admits, but he had never been more confident that he can do better. 

The next skater slides into the ice for his routine, but the Japanese gets up, worn off the mood to watch any more. It’s his turn next, and he has to be as ready as possible, to keep himself in the most optimum condition to the win. 

 

*

 

Yuuri goes to his starting position; his left hand resting on his chest, his right hovering above his eyes, as if to shield  himself from the harsh rays of sunlight. 

Around him the sounds of the stadium grow and grow. He tunes everything out but the sound of his heart beating, the one that had laid him to sleep as he cries in his bed, the one that had assured him that he is full and solid and alive and _ready_. 

The [xylophone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5u3RGhznctE) enters, dancing in happy tandem before the the violins break through to rush downwards in an exhilarating shrill, crashing into a steady, pulsing rhythm. He feels it washing through his veins, an invitation for a dance. This time he accepts, his hand adulating to his ear and twirls around violently, drowning. 

A man’s voice joins the eddy, echoing hopefully throughout the stadium. The skater responds, turning his movements light and nimble, threading carefully with grace as he imagines his story, his surge of hope, his determination every time he looks at fuzzy old TV in the middle of the night. His first chapter. 

He does something he hasn’t done in five months; he _feels_ the music, watching it flicker and blossom and telling him what do, how to feel. He had ignored it for three precious competitions, thinking that the technical points would be all he needs to help him win, ignorantly driven by Viktor’s talent in the beautiful jumps. He thought he could overpower him like that, but he had finally realised that it wouldn’t get him anywhere. Heavy jumps had not only drained his stamina vastly but also made his nerves affect the overall performance. His strength lies within the sound of music; warping his movements to create a synchronisation no one has ever seen before. 

He is no longer a dancer to the sound of music. He’s the minimalistic frame, the messenger of the music as it speaks his pain, his gruelling training, his desire. 

The tone falls into a sprinting crescendo of the violins and he follows, roaming across the ice for his first jump. At the second the instruments go out he leaps into the air, landing back in perfect anatomy. The crowd roars, but Yuuri hears nothing but the pulse of the music, the scream behind the layers of music as it slowly builds up once more. He forces himself beneath the tangle of music even more, deeper and deeper until all he has is desperation. To tell the audience, to unfold more of his story. 

Of he vows to beat Viktor, of all the tears he had shed for his moment, of how his family and friends had supported him till the end. Of how he would be grateful for everything and use it to be the _best,_ and the best only. He pulls all of those familiar emotions that had accumulated over the years out and submerges further. 

 _Look at me,_ he growls internally as he eyes fixes at the nearest table to the rink, the blank slates of the judges as they stare at him in stern appraisement. _Look at what I work so hard for._

A obvious tempo marches through the stadium, sonorous and declaring and growing, pulling Yuuri along further and further until he had fully bonded with the music, fully experienced of every memory he has relieved. 

A scream of a climax blossoms and he just _becomes_.

He becomes the beat, the drums, the violins, the man’s soul and passion. The ever lasting thirst for more, the urge to jump higher and just become one with the music and disappear with it.  

The tempo descends slightly into a uniform pulse of the drums. His arms arms sway in controlled looseness to the beat, as if he is conducting an orchestra he absolutely love. 

The music pulses once more and he ascends for at triple axel, feeling the air graze his skin in a zephyr like caress. 

Then it happened. 

Pain explodes in his right foreleg, its entrails running towards the feet. The haze around him fades like a light burnt out and he finds himself back in the stadium, where everything is too loud and too bright. 

He lands the jump in the least graceful way imaginable, his balance tilting dangerously to the left as he presses his full palm against the ice, the cold hissing in disapproval. A sigh of disappointment flushes from the audience and Yuuri bites his lower lip, dread creeping over. 

He couldn’t hide into the corner now and cry. The music is only half way, where the jumps counted more points. He can do this. He _must_ do this.

He concentrates hard on the lyrics, summoning his memories, forcing the embarrassment and the anger to come washing back on him. The voice of the man presses on, determined and declaring. A crash of the drum and Yuuri commands himself upwards into a Lutz, this time almost slipping off balance when he touches the ice again. The pain lingers mercilessly like an undying flame, with Yuuri begging with every bit of his heart for it to go away. Piece by piece he feels himself falling away from the rhythm, the fear of tumbling back to the fate of his short program on his first event trickling back like molten lead. 

_Focus, damnit Yuuri. Focus._

He thinks of Viktor dancing so beautifully under his music, of Viktor basking in the glory of his fans, of Viktor revealing his true face and sneering at every one like he’s top of them all. He thinks of him scoffing and saying those words again; 

_“You might as well skate your stupid ass out of the rink.”_

Within a furious split second newfound strength surges through his veins, the one that he had relied on to go through all those painful moments. The need to exceed Viktor, to make him regret every single arrogant word he had spat at Yuuri.  

It’s not the first time he had recalled the words since last year. Especially with his anxiety he didn’t dare to think of anything else except for getting better in fear of making things worse, but now he needed that motivation more than ever. 

The pain still hasn’t faded away, but Yuuri’s bond with the song is now solid as ever, because he realises it’s not the end yet. He’s still dancing in sync with the music, and he still has a chance to prove who is truly best. The Japanese etches that emotion that had been ever present for twelve months of his life deeper into the music and refreshes his movements, this time putting more energy, more effort into every of them. 

_I’m the best in my village. I’m the best in my country. I’m the best in Asia._

The chorus swells in fluctuating volume that challenges him into a race, the violins alternating in high notes. The pain in his feet finally smoulders, just in time for his last jump. The most important jump. He heaves and swerves into the air for the winning points, counting the number of rotations. 

One, two, three, _four_.

When he lands every fibre of his being is screaming, but the crowd breaks into pieces. 

He had landed the first quad toe loop in junior figure skating competition history. 

_And I’ll the best in the world._

A final crescendo approaches in the background, the man repeating the phrase again and again as if in attempt to engrave it into everybody’s mind of his proclamation before he fades. Yuuri descends into a sit spin, standing back up just in time as the sounds fade into silence, his arms spread open in triumph for the audience, his face a canvas of sweat and tears as he stares upwards at the ceiling, as if to see the sky beyond. 

The stadium shatters into a deafening applause, bouquets and plushies raining upon the ice. Yuuri lowers down for a polite bow and plasters a smile, but the his eyes only fixes on the judges as their attention shifts to the papers on their tables, calculating the scores quietly as if the mere one and a half minute that costed his everything was simply another bland performance. 

It’s only when he hears Tamara call his name before he turns towards the exit. She welcomes him back to concrete ground with a warm hug and they made their way to the kiss and cry, but Yuuri already know the results. 

Even though he had made through the quad, the cramp had messed up more than a quarter of his routine. Deducting the technical points from the two jumps and presentation ruined in between, the maximum he could ever get is second. Frustration boils through his thoughts, feeling hot tears sting his vision once more as he curses himself again and again. 

Cramps isn’t supposed to be normal amongst people who exercise, much more for a professional athlete like him. They do get it time to time but it only happens once in a blue moon, and for Yuuri it had to be in the most important competition of his junior figure skating life. It’s as if even the gods didn’t want him to win, as if they’re mockingly siding in Viktor with their endless quest for gold. 

The chandelier of a screen above him illuminates to the scoreboard, and he looks up. As he had predicted, the white words branding Viktor’s name sneers down from the top, his name right behind in suffocating second. He had broken his personal best and it’s higher than most of the scores he knew for free skate, but he doesn’t care. It’s not higher than Viktor’s.

All of that hard work and pain, just for second. Again. 

The Japanese’s gaze swept down to the floor as if he could erase the sight of the score from his mind and he leans forward, squeezing the bottle in his hand as tight as possible. 

It’s only his second season of figure skating, and his third time getting having the inevitable silver strung around his neck, but he’s already sick of it. It’s a promise of a consistency he wants to get rid of fast, and as soon as possible. 

 _Tomorrow_. 

 

*

 

The next day he doesn’t look at Viktor’s routine at all, soaking in the silence in the room as he warms up. His hands are shaking the entire time, and the urge to puke had been overwhelming. The buzzer for his cue comes, and he is ushered out into the arena, hearing the crowds scream and cry. He takes of his jacket, his costume glittering softly under the darkness as he proceeds to the rink. 

“Our next contestant, Katsuki Yuuri from Japan!” 

“Good luck, Yuuri,” Tamara murmurs, giving her student a firm push on the back. The dark haired boy slides in a trembling breathing throws himself into arena. The stadium burst into clapping, cameras flashing and people whistling as he makes his way to the centre of the rink, forming his starting position. 

_This is it._

Yesterday’s disastrous triple axel flashes before his eyes, making him flinch from his stance ever so slightly. Viktor’s cruel smirk suddenly appeared on the face of every person in the stadium, judging and superior. 

In a way more strength blossoms within, arming him with a confusing mix of fear and firmness. 

He will not make the same mistake again. 

This is the free skate, where it counts so much more than that short program. He’ll do it better, better than any other skater would. Better than Viktor would. 

The [music](https://open.spotify.com/track/1TAC5SANfK7l6wGHtUQ7MX) starts, a fluctuating rhythm of the saxophone, growing louder and louder before climaxing into a single, sharp clap. Yuuri burst from his starting position into a bold thirty degree split, sending ice flying at the sides of each blade. 

It took him a few tries to get that single move symmetrically right; one of them resulting on a limping journey to the nearby clinic. After the punishment of a week off ice, Tamara suggested the move otherwise. Surprisingly Yuuri grew persistent, insisting that was no other way to connect with the flow as well as this did. 

He argued with his coach there until the whole facility was annoyed, but the Chinese gave in. It wasn’t common for Yuuri to make up his own ideas for choreography. It was always Tamara suggesting a theme and planning out Yuuri’s strength and weakness before pushing the work and effort back to his student to make it perfect. 

This time it was different. Within six days Tamara could only watch as Yuri listened to the music on repeat again and again, flexing and performing jumps at random moments before he reunited with her at the end of the rink and told them that he just finished choreographing his dance for free skate. 

Needless to say Tamara had never been so surprised in her life, but at the same time all too overjoyed at Yuuri’s newfound confidence for his own skating. Despite that, his new ego was still as fragile as glass, so Tamara kept her ideas to herself, only giving out tips for Yuri on refining his moves, nothing mroe. 

Eventually she figured out how to execute it properly, but resulted in Yuuri with his standing position for an uncomfortable few seconds with slanted skates. He complied willingly. 

The beat thunders, sonorous and obvious with the sax running wild as he roams across the expanse of ice, freezing at every second the tempo pulses through his body. 

Tamara watches from afar, thinking how tiring it must’ve looked to the audience as the competitor had to swing his leg mid skate _and_ make energy to stop momentum in his body at every beat. But after watching Yuuri’s impressive vigour on the training rink, Tamara knew better. He might not come out of the rink still bounding in energy, but his body was well prepared for this kind of events. 

The female voice enters, low and erotic. Yuuri moves to it with the same seductiveness as his hands roams around his body, preparing for his first jump. 

Another sharp clap thundered through and he leaped into the air for a triple axel, landing in perfect anatomy as another round of applause ensued. 

_Let’s end your time to lay-low, your knees a-bending, so, it’s time to get up, so—_

One more clap as Yuuri fled into the air again, this time a double toe loop, his costume glittering in the air. 

A moment of tension. His feet slides perfectly back on ice, not a single throb of complaint from his muscles. The crowd’s ovation intensifies, but the voice muffles all of them completely. Another clap, and Yuuri finishes his combination with a double toe loop. Nothing out of place. 

The thrum of the violins came in, signifying another climax of the song. It stops for a moment it entered the highest pitch, and Yuuri froze, drowning him in silence. 

Within a second that was too short everything spilled back into the silence, like a waterfall with the tempo the pace of a lover’s heart. 

The female’s voice became as shrill and rapid as the beat, rising and falling as if to fool the listener’s with briefest hints of a false crescendo. The saxophone went on full volume racing off into a loose but harmonic chaos, mocking Yuuri on his world of dance built on debonair. 

At this point there was absolutely no poignant grace in his moves involved except for the precision and balance on ice. It took Yuuri weeks to master the art of floating, an advanced breakdancing technique that gives the illusion that he was walking on air. Being on ice made the presentation easier, but it also caused him to slip backwards as he does so, which draws even more strength to keep himself poised. 

He raced across the ice backwards, his feet withdrawing one by one in sudden movements, his hands sweeping and punching the air at the audience. The woman sighs into silence as Yuuri drew a half-closed hand to drag across his body to mimic a faint, before the orchestra rejoins the music, as loud as it ever was. His body arches back up as if to complete a circle, falling back into the unhesitating tempo.

At this point, he is completely whisked away by the song, every instrument claiming its own sentience within his limbs. As the beat shot up and the pounding of the cadence rose and fall, his motion responds in sync, either in spastic transitions or buttery fluid. His speed and movements took on two different routes, each layering each other in attempt to create its own melody to replicate the one that had him under its spell. Every second was a moment of suspense, his body eager for the next beat, and the next. 

For that few minutes, tire is a myth. 

As the trumpets die out he leaps into the air, feeling the crisp air and the thrum of the music against his skin. He lands, the trumpets tone built up once more, and he soared again, for the second and third time, each in descending amount of rotations. The audience went from awed cheering into a supportive chorus of clapping with the music, completely enthralled into the world Yuuri had created for himself. 

The woman’s voice returns, this time in the low, tempting voice from the start. The violin goes into a spine chilling crescendo. Another clap, Yuuri is in the air again, landing just in time for the pulse and the woman’s voice to come back with his movements swift but drawling, like the tease of the bow against the violin strings.

One clap, and Yuuri lowered into a sit spin for a few seconds and rose back up as the music distances, slowly, slowly. 

And the pace fell back in again, a short ambush of the music spilling and the woman rapping, but Yuuri didn’t miss a single beat. His obsidian orbs kept down on the ice, not betraying a single emotion or thought. 

The soul of the music fell again, the same theme as the initial beat, this time falling into a drowsy gait. Yuuri’s only swung around in infinity-shapes across the ice, his body blending in elegant turns. The instruments play, softer… softer…

And it surged back into volume. 

Another sound accompanied as the tunes danced quicker and quicker with the Japanese, a monotoned siren building up its pitch. Small bursts of rhythm vacillates in between, giving Yuuri the opportunity to complete his final combination. He rises for a quadruple Salchow and lands it perfectly, relief blossoming all over his body. 

The siren grew and grew into a deafening scream, swallowing the rest of the orchestra.

Yuuri’s whole body floods with excitement and anticipation for perhaps the best shatter of crescendo of the whole song, freezing in position once more. 

A brief vicissitude of sax intervened. A small tap dance. 

Just like that the song exploded back into its chorus again, throwing Yuuri back into the neck-to-neck battle with the tempo. Freeze. Move. Freeze. Spin. Kick. Repeat. 

The lyrics enter and go quickly, but the music didn’t stop, repeating and repeating. The final seconds are finally coming along, but as Yuuri turns around turns, hips gyrating and hands spiralling around him he feels the song leaving his soul, the fatigue crawling back into his body, the ending felt so far away. 

_You can do this, you can do this, you can do this… just a few more notes…_

Finally, the the volume simmered down into a denouement of silence. Yuuri falls back in position he had started with, his chest heaving up and down. 

One second passes. 

Two. 

The spell of the music had completely left Yuuri’s body now. Within a whisper of a moment pain washed across his systems, pulling his knees to the ice. He could feel his lungs expand and contract desperately, screaming as if he is drowning in water.  

“What an exhilarating performance! Ladies and gentlemen, I think this is the dawn of a new era of figure skating, lead by our extraordinary competitor Yuuri Katsuki!” 

In the distance he can hear the chant of his country’s name, filling with satisfied hope.  Tears spill out of his eyes. 

“Yuuri!” 

His forced himself to crane his neck the source of the call. Tamara stands across him, arms open and eyes sparkling with a familiar emotion Yuuri would never get tired of. 

Slowly, he pushes himself up from the ice with all the strength he could muster, skating as fast as he could on and on and on until falls into his coach’s arms. 

The woman hugs him tightly, and he just wants to melt. 

“C’mon, let’s head to the kiss and cry and see how high up you are.” 

Yuuri is so weak that he couldn’t even walk with skate protectors on, so Tamara helped him untie his skates and they both half-sprinted towards the bench where all the cameras were pointing at. 

And they wait. 

Tension hung across the area like a ceiling strung with blades as both student and coach stared at the massive screen above. Yuuri’s fingers tap furiously in tandem on his lap to leak out a small amount of the storm of fear raging inside him, his eyes clawing on the fluorescent monitor. At the moment it looks more of a time bomb than anything, imminently exploding into something that would bring him to pieces again or congratulate him.

Occasionally reporters shot them questions about the routine as the minutes pass, only to be partially quelled by Tamara’s abrupt, bland words. 

Yuuri didn’t add on to any answer, gripping on his coach’s sleeves as if it was for dear life, an unsettling weight resting in his stomach. 

A dark thought squirms through his never ending spiral of fears, forming a lump in his throat.

_What if it was too unprofessional, too vulgar for the judges? What if the song negotiated in was no more than annoyance to them?_

More and more voices started flooding the back of mind slowly. An icy bead of sweat slid across his forehead, and a heavy, heavy block of ice formed on his chest. For as far as Yuuri knew no one had ever attempted to skate in a way he did, but what if it wasn’t because of the stamina problem? This question never plagued Yuuri before because of his overflowing confidence at his very first own choreography, and Tamara had been awfully supportive of his program. But now, as he looked at the emotionless faces of the judges with his vision on the verge of vertigo, he couldn't help but feel crushing regret. 

He shouldn’t have been so proud of his choreography. He never even tried doing it, and in one session? Why was he so determined to listen to himself? Wasn’t that something he usually wouldn’t do? 

“Yuuri? Are you okay?” Tamara prodded, lifting the arm Yuuri was holding. 

The dark haired boy kept his gaze averted. 

After a few moments the woman registers the situation, and she pulls him closer. “Yuuri, the crowd had loved you so much just now. If you don’t think your presentation was enough, your quads are certainly enough to get you at least a medal.” She coos quietly. 

Before Yuuri could reply, five digits blinks into sight. 

130.56 

Yuuri stares and fumbles for his glasses. Usually the numbers were big enough so that he didn’t need his them, but this score is too good to be true. 

He puts them on, and stare again. 

130.56 

His eyes widen, mentally adding up the marks. 

He had tied with Viktor Nikiforov. 

A wave of clamour surged from the audience as his name shifts up to first, bearing the same overall five digit score as the Russian. A frown appears on Tamara’s face and she immediately got up, striding towards the judge’s table. 

Yuuri just stays in his place, his eyes glued to the screen with his jaw hanging. 

He had never seen his before in his life. He wasn’t even sure that this could actually happen. The new scoring system had been so precise with the numbers judged down to five significant figures, fates easily decided by just a slight change of the decimals. Sometimes he does think about it, when two people are unlucky enough to be bonded by the same score by all five numbers, but he never really bothered to ask his coach what would happen then. It’s impossible, right?

He snatches a plush toy from the side of the bench and buries his head into the fluffy material, breathing in the scent of the ice from where it was picked up from. 

For so long he had dreamed of seeing his name placed on the very top of the list and watch the smile wiped off the Russian’s face, but this is nothing of his expectations. 

He wonders what Viktor is thinking right now, staring at the name a person he had underestimated for so long having a score that matched his perfectly. Would he know what would happen? 

His line of thoughts stumbles to a halt in front of him as soon as he sees Tamara sprinting back to him, her hazel eyes carrying news.  

“They’re going to determine the winner by the one with the highest free skate points.” 

Yuuri’s heart stops. 

“You’ve won, Yuuri.” 

 

*

 

The skate towards the podium should’ve felt surreal. It should’ve felt like a dream that Yuuri would never want to wake up from, should’ve been a rush of ecstasy and satisfaction. 

But as he stood on the centre of it all all he could feel is… confusion. 

From the layers and layers of noises he could pick out slight jeering as the crowd attempts to accept the result of the tie. His insides twist. He couldn’t blame them, after all. No one had prepared for this, not even him. 

But still he holds the gold medal up high in front of him, letting it twirl slowly in the air as the lights dance on the edges. He examines it quietly, marvelling the simplistic craftsmanship of the edges and the patterns. 

He didn’t really know what to say or think. 

It’s his now, with all legal rights and claim, for him to show the whole world and his family just how far he had come. But as he slips it through his fingers and feel the cold, empty hiss on his skin, it didn’t feel right. 

Then there is the person beside him. 

Viktor, _Viktor Nikiforov_ stands on the second place the podium, waving to everyone with the silver medal strung around his neck that laced his hair like a match in heaven, smiling and grinning like it had been the best award he had ever received. 

Part of Yuuri feels galled. This is supposed to be the part where he looks dead into the Russian’s eyes and spit everything that he had left unsaid building up inside him over the past year, finishing with a smile and wait for the anger in Viktor’s eyes to boil, to glare at him helplessly as Yuuri finally bested him in a game he thought had always been his.

But he hadn’t. 

The judges could’ve just said that the scores depended on the short program, and he would’ve swapped places with Viktor and nature would’ve worked the same way. He wonders if the judging system allowed another decimal place at the back, and maybe then Viktor would’ve actually won. 

Still, wouldn’t it be a waste to not admire where his enemy is right now? 

So he allows himself one second, just _one_ and turns. He looks, and the icy blue eyes look back. 

Time stops. 

Stating that Yuuri doesn’t remember the look Viktor gave a year ago would be a horrible lie. He had recalled it every single night before drifting to sleep; the fiery blizzard the irises held within when he spat those words; the irking amusement, the fury from the wound that burns and boils like storms, he remembers it all in crisp clear resolution. The only reason he had been able to get this far, and if he ever had to die soon those eyes would the only thing that'll fade last in his head. 

But it is nothing compared to relieving it once more in real life. 

The artificial grin melts like plastic. The azure depths reach out and pulls Yuuri in further and further, showing him the anger within that could’ve burned the whole building down, the amusement crooking into something vicious and mocking, warping together to form words that rang loud and clear in his head. 

And it is everything and nothing that Yuuri had wanted to hear. Instantly everything in him flares as he drink the emotions greedily, quelling the everlasting hunger for more as the sight tries to cure the wounds Viktor had laid which he would never heal. The doubts he had gathered over the past months reduce into ashes, as well as the memory that Yuuri had held on to in hateful need, all replaced with this very instant. 

From afar a loud click of a camera snaps. The daze in Yuuri clears and he quickly turns his head back to the audience, attempting to smile. 

The crowd cheers and screams, and for a split second it did feel like the dream he had lived for so long. Still, he knows what happened. 

He may have gotten gold, but he hasn’t beaten Viktor yet. He’s still standing there as the best junior skater in existence, with no other having any combined score higher than him. It’s as clear as crystal, as literal as how the grass is green and the sky blue. All he did is get the same amount of points and that doesn’t prove anything. 

He wants to see that face again. He wants to see the wretched anger and disbelief, the same emotions Viktor's eyes had reflected onto his on the fated day as he tastes his own medicine. He could feel the iron grip of smugness cling onto him, feeding the voracious pit of revenge, of the sight of Viktor lower than him, the glare in his eyes of  _how dare you._  

He had tasted victory even though it's not his, but now he absolutely loved it and would do anything to have more. 

 

*

 

As soon as the ceremony ends and Yuuri has signed the certificates he departs back to Hasetsu on the earliest plane. Despite the first place and everyone's convincing he refuses to go to the Gala nor the ball after, unwilling to see Viktor's eyes again. If he ever wants to see him it would have to be in the podium. 

His parents had greeted him back in a warm, quiet welcome, parading his gold medal everywhere. Yuuri lets them; he wouldn’t have come this far without them anyway. The entire Ice Castle throws him a party in celebration of getting first, with Yuuko squealing and giggling as she asks for the Japanese's autograph. 

Now that his career is set in stone, Tamara recommends his parents the alternative of homeschooling. It’s pricey especially in the case of its rarity in Japan, but the government had agreed to fund in reward for the gold medal, and promises them to continue funding as long as he maintains his position at the top of the podium. Yuuri’s parents aren’t very bothered by their son’s choice of career; he has proven ace beautifully in figure skating anyways, oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t fuelled by talent, merely the urge to surpass someone. Still they made him took a few science subjects for a good cushion of a career after the early figure skating retirement age. He complies, grateful for the support and understanding and studied hard, but of course, practiced harder. 

The next few weeks passes in a flurry of bruises, cuts and sprains. He's still determined to push himself harder than ever, but for a different memory. Now it had been the relentless addiction to see Viktor scowl again, the need to have a proper, actual gold medal draped over him and actually feel the crowd cheer for him, and him only.

Viktor has gone into the senior division, leaving Yuuri to dominate the Juniors for the next year. It feels weird but satisfying; knowing that he left into the seniors with only a silver while Yuuri can easily win gold without having to compete with him anymore. Not that he won’t see him for a year; the Grand Prix would be held in the same venues, after all. Still, it didn't stop his drive to imprint his skills on the junior division, to mark himself as the best before leaving into the senior division. 

 

*

 

His first invitation to compete in senior division himself arrives as a offering of a place as a contestant in the Japan National Championships. Tamara accepts, though her face had been pallid whens he watches her reply the mail. On the day before the competition he hugs his family and sister goodbye despite the fact that they'll meet once more at the competition to support him and leaves by train to Hokkaido. 

Tamara's pale, worried face rewrites into bitten determination as she spends the whole journey attempting to drill Yuuri through the new standards for senior division. Yuuri nods absentmindedly as she drones on, his gaze partially fixed on the ever-changing view through his window. He doesn't understand why the words his coach used had been so urgent; it's not like he's competing with the world anymore. It's just his own country, and so far there hadn't been many internationally known Japanese skaters he had known before Viktor came into his life. Besides, his family and friends would be there to cheer for him, just like they did for his Junior Championships.

Should be a piece of cake, right? 

His first falter of confidence starts when he first enters the stadium. Instead of small, innocent faced people who trails obediently behind their coaches or leaning in the corner rebelliously he had been greeted by broad shouldered skaters who looms high over him, eyeing him in cold, appraising gazes as they pass. Even the youngest of them had been in their seventeen or eighteen years old, with puberty fully flourishing on their alpha-borne bodies. He tries not to get intimidated, reminding himself that none of the skaters here had broken junior world records as he walked towards the VIP seat area in big strides. 

His second falter of confidence came when the first skaters enters the ice. He barely reads the name, finding no use to focus on him until the performance started, and he finds himself completely blown away. One second the man just stands there, waiting for the music to start, the other he had been a blur of beauty and focus that Yuuri couldn't 't keep up with despite the slow travel of the music, transitioning from jump after jump in the first half like it had been nothing. His heart skips a beat as the man lands a quad in the first half, and another quad in the second, hearing the crowd going shrill in satisfaction of the perfection. 

His third and finishing blow on his confidence lands when the scores are announced, nearly twice of his personal best, when realisation settles on him and the words Tamara had said on the journey suddenly comes crushing back on him.

He's no longer competing with aspiring, young talents with potential but people who have already developed from it, who had trained longer and harder than Yuuri ever has, some even nearing retirement age. And he would have to compete with the rest of the world like this, with other veterans through the Grand Prix Finals, then the Worlds, the Olympics.   

When it's his turn every single flicker or pride has left him, leaving him petrified of what the crowd would expect out of him. That one quad in his routine which he had placed him above the other junior skaters suddenly didn't look so special anymore. Tamara stays by him patiently in the warm-up room, coaxing his back until the screen on the wall flickers, with him going next. He gets ushered out of the rink, gathering pairs of eyes on his back as he faces the entrance of the rink. 

He looks back one more time as the speakers echo his name, finding Tamara mouthing three words.

_Do your best._

Yuuri takes a deep breath, forcing those words into him and slides onto the ice.  

 

*

 

The crowd hollers around Yuuri as he step onto the lowest height of the podium, awaiting to receive his bronze medal.  

He listens to the commentator as they fire off compliments for the whole stadium to hear, feeling as surprised as they are. After watching all of those performances he honestly didn't expect himself to receive a medal, not even expecting himself to enter the top six when he had drastically messed up his free skate. To his and everybody's shock he had gotten second for his short program which restored his confidence slightly, only to be toppled over by the free skate performances the next day which had pulled him to fifth. His combined points are dangerously close to fourth place. Any numbers in decimal less and he wouldn't have gotten a medal at all. 

Even Tamara, who has the most faith in Yuuri had been astonished at the results. His family in response had rolled down the family onsen poster that they promised Yuuri they wouldn't bring, conquering an embarrassingly significant portion of the stadium's audience in cherry blossom colours of their logo. His coach laughed afterwards, commenting on how red he had looked when he posed for the group photo. 

But the happiness can go so far until he hears of his enemy's latest achievement. 

Viktor, at the same time had gotten silver in the European Championships senior division, a solid twenty points more than Yuuri’s score for Japan Internationals. 

He watches his rival’s routine in the hotel before departure, ignoring Tamara’s gushing on the Russian’s choreograph as he burns his eyes onto the screen with unwavering attention. The pride in his bronze medal falters, and the gold medal which he relishes at everyday in his medal room suddenly loses its shine in his memories. 

He might be improving from where he had started, but Viktor is as well. He has to catch up as fast as he can, to progress faster than Viktor. Forget eventual improvement. He may not have gotten a gold for his international senior debut, Yuuri promises himself deep inside, despite the crushing difficulty even competing in just national level, that he would. 

 _Just you wait,_ He thinks bitterly as Viktor executes his second flawless quadruple Salchow. _I’ll beat you fair and square._

 

*

 

The Grand Prix Finals comes at the strike of summer. They travel to Taipei, capital of Taiwan two days before the competition, where the weather is much warmer and the city blazing with life. 

It had been a relief to descend back into the junior division after a traumatising experience in the senior section. Despite his itch to dive right into the international senior division and that he is fully legal to do so he knows deep inside he still isn't ready for it both mentally and physically. According to Tamara he wouldn't be able to survive even the qualification events, much less getting an actual place within the Finals. It had been harsh but it's a truth he had braced himself for ever since the Japan Championships, quietly surprised that he hadn't shed a tear over it. Viktor had only entered this year after all, and Yuuri still has a year to work and train hard to outdo the Russian for his debut. 

With Viktor gone, the tensed up, flared Yuuri Tamara knew evaporates into the air, replaced with a bubbly personality that wanders around the city, eager for sightseeing instead of harrowing in their hotel room, revising his routine again and again. He meets Chris on the day before the competition, who invites him for a day trip around the city which he accepts eagerly. He had been partially afraid to treat him any less than his personality deserves, feeling guilty the silver medal being taken away from him in the Finals. 

The Swiss introduces him to some of the competitors for his group, some faces Yuuri recognises on the rink and the others on their debut. It’s been a shocking mix of peers; some of them are nearing the age limit for the junior division and still not getting any medals, some aspiring thirteen year olds. Chris invites all of them for a drink, and this time Yuuri didn’t reject.

They spend the evening going to different food stalls around the city, chaperoned by the Swiss’s coach. Little by little the Japanese learns about his fellow contestants outside the rink as they share their stories while munching on seemingly millions beef themed food. Soon the introductions melts into proper conversation and names became small stories and skill tips outside of the rink, the cultures of their own countries and their backstories as they grew up to love the ice. Initially he had only stayed to the side and listened, but Chris started prodding and minutes later he finds himself laughing along and shyly adding on his own history(leaving out parts where Viktor was involved), colouring the air in warmth he hasn't felt in a long time. 

As guilty as he felt for not focusing on his own routine, it had felt beautifully different to feel something else for once.  

  

*

 

Yuuri sips piping hot green tea from his cup, listening to the rain drumming against the glass windows of his hotel room. His fingers taps on the paper of his routine list for the free skate to join the chorus, a soft sound against the noise. The lights of had been set to a minimum, basking the entire place in drowsy yellow. 

It’s a peaceful evening after the short program. Tamara had disappeared to the markets to grab them both dinner. Without her to nag around the room the silence is serene, but also offering the lack of distraction as he throws himself back into the events of the afternoon. 

Everything rushes back to him; the bouncing of his feet and the biting of his fingernails as he waits, the sounds of the audience and the resonant throbbing of his heart himself at the kiss and cry. The best of the best might be gone, but he wasn’t the only one good enough to compete for the gold. After the Chris incident he had refused to underestimate anyone anymore, which is a morally good thing but at the same time it only made him compare to literally anyone on the rink. 

To his relief he had been leading, but he still has the free skate tomorrow to confirm his position at the top. If his routine is flawless than the gold would be his to claim. 

He plops into the softness of the hotel bed. The white ceiling stares back at him, and he finds himself thinking of Viktor. 

Strangely enough he hasn’t seen the Russian anywhere except for the duration on ice. Yuuri couldn’t see his performance because he was the first right after his batch, but he came out of the back rooms just in time to see Viktor’s scores as the crowd ooze their approval. It had once again been higher than Yuuri’s, to the surprise of nothing but his sheer, dumb praying, but the more terrifying part was that the rising prodigy had only landed third. 

He sighs through his nostrils. It’s the Grand Prix Finals after all, where now literally every single known athlete with honed capabilities join in to compete against each other, far, far worse than his Japan Championships or the European Championships. 

Knowing his skills Viktor would have absolutely no problem climbing up to the top once more. In fact, getting third place amongst the Finals had already been remarkable enough, but Yuuri knows he can be better. It's only a matter of time before Yuuri would make his way to the top of the podium once more, and the idea of it thrills him more than ever.  

A small smile makes it way to the corner of his cheeks. He had repeated that thought to himself countless times already. Not that he thought it isn’t achievable, but he had always feared that Viktor had some inhumane talent Yuuri would never have. The gold medal that sits hundreds of kilometres away from him in his medal room doesn't actually disprove that, but it’s a start of something and it is enough to tell himself that he is at least as good as him. 

The best thing out of all is finally feeling the shift of balance in the rivalry. After all these months of chasing after the gold medal as a one-sided enmity the tides have finally turned, and now judging by the look Viktor gave from the burning memory he could feel his hate finally reciprocated and turn his attention towards defeating Yuuri like he had done for the past year, to finally pull him down to the same level as he is. Then he just has to make sure he stays there. 

In a way he had been grateful Viktor had destroyed his hopes and expectations. The scar carved by the Russian's words had cut against most of his other memories, far more prominent and deep than the scar he had given him on his face, and offered him all the strength and determination he needed to be right here. If he had still been trapped under the daze of the Russian being a idiotic god of ice, worshipping him like he had never been reachable he wouldn't have known beating him would be so possible, wouldn't have ascended so high into the ranks of ice skating within such a short span of time. 

He staggers up into a sitting position, lazily thinking of getting a shower when something manifests in his stomach.  

Heat simmers slowly in his stomach, radiating almost soothing auras of warmth throughout his abdomen. He ignores it, blaming the massive lunch he had before the short program when he suddenly feels his blood _boiling._  

He places a hand on his stomach, only having a moment of confusion to himself before every single limb gets engulfed in the flames, lulling him onto the floor. 

Pain jabs into his arm as he falls sideways, panting in a mix of suffering confusion as more tingling entwined its way around his thighs. He places both of his hands on the solid wood tiles and attempts to push himself back into standing position when another foreign streak of heat brushed on a spot between his thighs. Without thinking he arched back, a whine prying out from his lips. 

It definitely wasn’t pain. It felt like something he already knew, something indescribable. A small jolt of ecstasy, a low beckon for more. 

_Oh no. Oh no no no no._

He tries to feel something else, but his body shoved that thought away, pulling his mind into the poaching warmth. His instincts flare and scream, begging for him to touch the spot that burns so much, to stroke it… 

Closer… 

Closer… 

He slammed his fists onto the ground, scraping the remaining of his energy and lunged for his phone, forcing himself to read the words as he rapidly went through his contact list. He found the name _Tamara Coach_ easily and _slams_ the call button as hard as he can. In a rush he places it on speaker, flinging it to the bed before he could drop it anywhere. 

_Beep, beep… beep beep…_

It felt like an eternity before Tamara finally picks up.

“Hi, Yuuri!” His coach greets cheerfully, oblivious of his turmoil. Through the line he could hear layers of voices around her competing for attention, the life of the streets bubbling up. “What’s up?” 

Yuuri takes a shaky breath, feeling the heat gaining on him. He could see the glisten of the newly formed sweat under the orange bask of the hotel light, his own forehead drenched in the same fluid despite the hotel AC blasting16 degrees celsius air. 

“Tamara,” He croaks, his voice completely broken. “It’s… so hot… I don’t know… help…” 

“Yuuri? What’s wrong?”

Another whine drags through the silence. “Please…”

Two seconds of silence. “Okay, Yuuri. I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Her voice now became fully urgent. He hears the _beeeeeeep_ that ended the call and lets out a raspy breath, letting the heat take over. 

Five minutes later, Katsuki Yuuri is declared an omega. 

 

* 

 

Hell. 

That is all Yuuri could describe it as, and all that it fits. 

Waves and waves of heat endlessly slams onto him as it cocoons him like a thousand duvets. His mind crawls into the unknown, yearning for something he didn’t want to know, twisting and turning for something that he never knew had been there. 

_Here, touch, here._

The heat between his thighs grows, pulling his entire body into an urge to attend to it. He succumbs, reaching tentatively to his throbbing, stubby length and strokes. Unexpected bursts of pleasure explodes in his body like thunder, and his body revels in it, pressing for him to keep going. 

He wants to stop then, to retreat from this part of him that terrified him to no ends. But as his hand lets go his body wails louder, propelling him and hauling him back into the seemingly never ending spiral he had pulled himself into. 

_More, more, more._

Reluctantly—Instinctually— he didn’t know what it is anymore— he wraps his fingers around his length once more, which now stands in a throbbing salute. The voices sigh into a hush as he lets the primal part of him take over,  his fingers working up and down and up and down. Pleasure turns into addiction, and he feels something building up inside him, his humanity instinctively constraining it to merely a feeling. But as his hands work faster and his wild thoughts falls back into focus he could feel it growing larger and larger, threatening to break through and he realises he wouldn't be able to hold in much longer. 

In a split second a wave of ecstasy shatters him, taking every ounce of energy away from him as they release in leaks of white. His eyelids turns heavy. He breathes one last humid breath, unable to register the moment that just happened slips soundlessly into oblivion. 

 

*

 

“I can make it to the free skate!” He protests. “I swear, I’m fine now!” 

He had woken up in another room, limp and tired and sticky. 

Darkness suffocatingly wraps around him caged by four walls, the tiny height of the ceiling threatening to swallow him whole. Only a small window with blinds illuminated the room in weak moonlight. There are shelves within convenient reach stocked with dry food, bottles of water and, cucumber-like things that Yuuri decided not to tamper with. A massive TV screen looms in front of him, layered in thick plastic which is probably water proof as well. There is absolutely no ventilation whatsoever, not even the smallest gap in the doors, only a small pet door that could be opened from the outside to slide food in. 

It’s no different from a prison cell. 

“Yuuri, you're in  between one of the heat waves.” He could hear the tremor in his coach’s voice, now floors away from him. To avoid him. “It’ll only last for a few minutes before you enter another one. You better hydrate yourself and wash up before the next, because it’s going to be more intense.” 

His mind unknowingly relives the moments of his first presentation heat— the warmth, the slickness, the pleasure _—_ and feels a little more of him break. Tears trickle down his cheeks like waterfall. 

This isn’t supposed to happen now. This isn’t supposed to happen at all. Isn't it obvious that he would be a beta or an alpha? Isn't it clear enough that there isn't a sliver of omega for generations in his family? 

The boy pinches himself hard, making sure his nails digs into his skin and the pain sharp enough to tear him through his sick, twisted nightmare. Nothing happened. 

It’s all real. He’s an omega. 

He’s an omega whose only presentable thing is their body. He’s an omega who is destined to serve the alphas, to seduce them as _slaves._ He’s an omega who’s supposed to be hollow in the inside, acting as the breeders to be helplessly thrown into making offspring and having the rest of their lives to take care of them.

_Omega, omega, omega._

He repeats the word again and again, licking each syllable in the chord disgusted, pitiful people use. 

_Disgusting. Useless. Shameless sluts._

The boy tries to will them away in protest, but the room had been all too much of a reminder to keep them at bay. He doesn't want to be a breeder or some other sick, indecent activity his society had frowned upon. All the news of figure skating retirements because of their secondary gender suddenly flashes to his head, and another wave of fear grips him hard.

He doesn't want to be part of that. He doesn't want quit what he loved so much just because of some stupid biology, to be yanked away from what he had craved most, from achieving the dream that seemed so close now. 

“I don’t want to be here,” He sobs. “Please, Tamara—“

“Yuuri,” Yuuri could hear her trying mimic the cooing voice whenever he worries, but he finds his choking mirrored on it instead. “I know you’re really frustrated now. You can definitely make it back into the skating competitions, but you’ll have to sit this one out. Your first heat is extremely important to your health, and skating on the ice in heat is dangerous. Please understand, Yuuri.” 

He doesn’t. He couldn’t. 

Things were going so well, he’s already leading on the scoreboard and he can get the gold and then the Worlds and he could’ve advanced into the senior division next and—

“There’s always next year. I have to go now, Yuuri. All the best with your heat.” 

And before Yuuri could say anything more his coach hangs up on him. 

Yuuri flung the phone onto the mattress with all of his strength, watching it flounce soundlessly before resting on one of the pillows. Slowly all the hope he had accumulated throughout the three months burns and burns, his emotions turning as dark as the room around him, and he begs for it to merge with him, for him to become one with it so he would just disappear into nothing. 

Then he cries and cries, as loud as he can, pouring everything he has left… out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next edition: yuuri gets unshook  
> Jesus Christ I can't even cope with handjobs how do I write the next few scenes  
> Anyways sorry for the shitty chapter this time. I know most of y'all omegaverse fans wanted this best, but I really didn't know how to write it and the study pressure had really affected my performance. I will definitely edit this once I get more time.  
> In the meantime, stay tuned! :D I'm getting a holiday soon so I miiiight have more time to write than usual. (lol who am i kidding ain't nobody got time to write when u can celebrate Lunar New Year and GET MONEY AND GET FOOD HUEHUHE) 
> 
> (im joking i'll make sure next chapter comes in as soon as possible :D ) 
> 
> Viktor's music for SP:[ clicky clicky ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFdlhlmQ-ek)  
> Yuuri's music for SP: History Maker by Dean Foujika: opening version  
> Yuuri's music for SP: Lone Digger by Caravan Palace
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome!


	5. My memories, My life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another 1am post where i literally submit the whole thing 5 minutes after finishing the last line of the sentence fuck yeah 
> 
> Sorry for the week long delay again ;_; I've been caught up in so many things and have started a fic with HappyFabulousManatee (Posting it soon here, keep an eye out!!!) as well as a personal fic for retrieving my own writing style. I've realised that writing this fic had been a really tedious job for me because I had to release so much details of a human's emotion. being able to write fight sequences and action was so much relief. :'D  
> ALSO viilocitee FROM TUMBLR MADE [ > THIS WONDERFUL BLESSED FANART ](http://viilocitee.tumblr.com/post/156197069193/ive-been-lowkey-in-the-yoi-fandom-but-this-is) FGEFGAJKDFHALKJSITSSOBEAUTIFULJUSTLOOKATITIMSCREAMINGINGGG  
> If you wonderful people ever make anything for this fic, please don't hesitate to tell me via my [ tumblr](http://deathmark1999.tumblr.com)!!! I'm not as active as most of you guys, but I'll definitely check my inbox once in a while and will absolutely feature it if you allow ;) because it'll be too beautiful to just be on tumblr. 
> 
> ~~totally not worried for the feedback for this shitty update~~ THANK YOU SO MUCH! ALL OF YOUR COMMENTS AND TOKENS OF LOVE HAVE BROUGHT ME TO ACTUALLY FINISH THIS CHAPTER IN TWO DAYS BECAUSE I TOTALLY DID NOT INDULGE MYSELF TOO MUCH IN LUNAR NEW YEAR HUEHUEHUE

_The night was an endless abyss of darkness, with the stars gone and the moon hanging bright and white and alone. It was late and the town had already succumbed to slumber in the chilly weather. The pedestrian lights flank each sides of the barren streets like lonely soldiers, illuminating the road in weak flickers. Around Yuuri the wind whispered hymns with the barren trees, spreading the news of the oncoming winter. He lets out a humid puff and huddles closer to Minako on every step back home, towards her cocoon of warmth despite the layers of winter clothing he was already wearing._

_He insisted Minako on extra practice because he couldn’t get a certain technique right, pulling them through more hours than necessary until he could master it. When they were finally done there was so late that there were no more cabs around the streets, so the Beta to have to walk Yuuri home._

_They walk alongside each other quietly, soaking in the silence of the night and the soft sounds of shoes against freezing concrete. Small, stubby apartments loom over them, signalling that they were approaching the more rural part of the area. It was void of life like the rest of the town, but as they walk further into the area something breaks through the serenity. An inhumane pitch of a sound, something between a moan and a scream. Maybe a cat?_

_His attention flares, feeling the urge to run forward before being pulled into Minako’s arms._

_“Where are you going?” He heard her rasp, her voice sore from instructing him all night._

_“There’s something there.” His reply was stubborn, unsure of how to put his urge to protect into words. “It’s going to freeze.”_

_There’s a moment of silence before his ballet instructor replies._

_“It’s not a something.”_

_Yuuri tilts his head instinctively, a motion he had been accustomed to whenever he gets confused. It’s a beneficial response; he hated admitting that he had been wrong, not after Viktor had always been right. But at the same time he wanted to learn, to be better, and his body speaks better for him. Minako knew his body language well and saw his movements well, but this time she didn’t reply. Her arms didn’t leave Yuuri either._

_They continue their journey and Yuuri listened eagerly as the sound grew and grew. He wanted to squirm out of her grasp, to run and see what that isn’t “something” could've made that noise, but he stayed obedient, hoping that they would be able to see the cause of the sound from where they were._

_Slowly he realises they were going out of path, Minako carefully steering him to the right, across the street. At this rate it’s obvious that the woman knew that was going on, and didn’t want him to see it. It’s probably for his own good, but his curiosity decides otherwise. The voices falter, and soon it was too much for him to contain. He turns around against Minako’s grip and stares into the darkness between the apartments, searching for anything that outlines against the shadows._

_And that’s when he saw it._

_Two men stood over a woman as she straddles on a third one, her naked body adorned by roaming hands, her expression a blur between pain and something Yuuri had never seen in his life. Almost as if she had been willing and waiting. The motion between her and the man was rapid, as his bare hips cocked upwards and the woman shifting up and down on his body, her open mouth moaning the sounds that Yuuri had been hearing for five minutes._

_“More… Alpha… more…”_

_Something deep inside him awakens, stirring into his thoughts just for a short moment like warmth before it quickly disappeared into darkness once more. He didn’t question what it was, drowning himself at the scene in front of him until Minako yanks him back._

_He pulls his eyes away from the scene to face her piercing hazel orbs, fire licking beneath. “What did you see?” She hissed._

_He opens his mouth in attempt to describe what he just saw, but all that came across his head is liquid horror and confusion. He stutters some inaudible words. Minako took in the sounds as a yes, and sighs._

_“I’m so sorry you had to see that, Yuuri.” She shakes her head as she stared at the pavement, as if she was ashamed with herself._

_A million thoughts ran through his head, but one question manages to burst through his mouth. “What is it?”_

_A few more moments of silence dance through the night. Her steps grew faster, and Yuuri half-jogs to match her rhythm._

_“Has your teacher taught you secondary gender?”_

_The boy nods, refreshing the memory of the words in the whiteboard, of the heat and the omegas, of alphas. He never really concentrated in that class, thinking that it wasn’t really necessary, but as he lived with a mix of betas and alphas and watching the news about omega rape—_

_“Oh.”_

_He realised._

_And that was the line Yuuri wasn’t allowed to cross. It’s always been taught that whatever issues related to omega assault is greatly frowned upon in the society, and he isn’t going to break it now._

_His quiet revelation didn’t reach Minako, so she went on. “That was an omega in heat. So naturally alphas just… got attracted.”_

_“But Tamara’s an alpha too!” Yuuri protests. “She never got close to any omega like… like…” His words trailed off. Tamara; dignified Tamara who raises him like a second mother would probably die before being forced to do something like that._

_“Shouldn’t we call the restraining forces?” He switched the subject quickly._

_“We don’t have restraining forces in this town,” Minako mumbled lamely. “No one with enough authority is awake. Stupid, isn’t it? Omegas barely get anything in less developed places.”_

_Yuuri tried to look back to catch a glimpse of the omega again, pity filling his thoughts. “So we’re going to just leave her like that?”_

_“Yeah. I can’t go against those two alphas, and you definitely can’t either.”_

_Yuuri frowned, and Minako sighed heavily once more. “Look, I know it’s wrong to leave them just there. But there really isn’t anything you can do. At least, not now. Maybe one day when you’re famous enough you can finally do something about the omega rape cases around here.”_

_The ballerina didn’t allow him to say anything more, simply hauling him along and making sure he didn’t look back anymore._

 

_*_

 

** Junior Figure Skater Yuuri Katsuki’s Withdraws from the Grand Prix Junior Finals  **

**22nd November 2008, Yacob Davids**

**Prodigy skater Katsuki Yuuri has reported himself absent from the Free Skate program of 2008 Grand Prix Junior Finals due to medical reasons.**

**The event, which had started on Monday with the Short Program in Taipei, had ended the Short Program with him leading the list. Due to his absence for the Free Skate he was automatically awarded last place by the ISU judges. He is said to require another week of rest according to Tamara Yap Shi Ling, Katsuki’s coach and Grand Prix Finals Champion.**

**Katsuki Yuuri, 15, is a junior figure skater from Japan with a stunning improvement through two seasons, landing fourth place in his first Grand Prix Junior Finals at the age of 13 and ending his latest season with a gold in the World Championships with a score that had tied with skating legend and prodigy Viktor Nikiforov, who has recently moved on to senior divisions.**

**“I apologise in behalf of him and me for the disturbance of the events,” Yap Shi Ling has said. “He will be resting until he comes back fully fit.”**

**The ambiguity of his reason for pulling out of the event and the fact that he has not been the one who made the announcement rendered many suspicious. Many speculations about him currently presenting as an omega has been made, but his fans say that he is overridden in stress.**

 

*

 

As soon as his heat ended Tamara had to drag him out of the room and wash him up from being in his own slick for a week. He wanted to be dead. He wanted to just lock himself away forever, away from the stress, away from the pressure and away from Viktor. He had already failed this far, the end looked so near. 

His perspective of the society shifted; as people pass by him he could only hear the words _omega, omega, omega_ ringing in his mind _._ Different kinds of smell would waft into Yuuri’s nose, and it took him a confused hour to realise that they were the individual scents of people. Of their secondary genders. 

Most of them was the bland but unique scent of a beta, but in the lift lobby the entire place was heavy with the smell of alpha superiority as skaters and important looking people come and go. Occasionally few of them would get close and the scent became intoxicating, luring a side that whimpers and begs for proximity and something more. So far it only exists as a whisper or a regular temptation that Yuuri could ward it off easily, but he was terrified to one day be possible to succumb to it. 

His coach had bought him a scent blocker from the nearest pharmacy. It was a huge skin coloured sticker that layered the back of his neck, apparently sealing off his scent glands so the alpha wouldn’t be able to smell anything. It felt stuffy under the warmth and it had almost wrapped entirely around his neck, which gave him no more comfort about the watching eyes than he should. 

The worst part was calling his parents after detached from society for a week. He didn’t know why they sounded so worried, so panicked that he hadn’t called them for days. He’s not the proud alpha or potent beta that had run for generations. The only thing they could be proud of was that they finally could pass on another generation, which was miles away from what Yuuri wanted. 

After the call they took the earliest flight back to Hasetsu. He couldn’t bear to know at what happened at the Grand Prix to see who had taken over first place nor look at Viktor’s routine. He just wanted to get home and try not to think about what would happen tomorrow, and the trip had been traumatising. Despite the fact that his scent was now completely blocked he could still feel disgusted eyes stabbing his back, as if everyone in the entire waiting room knew that he was an omega. He could hear the voices again; wrapping around his throat and stealing the air from his lungs as they whisper mocking laughter and disappointment, telling him that no one wanted him anymore. 

By the time the plane arrived he was completely drained from just sitting in one place, panting and trembling as tears quietly escaped his eyes. 

His family, having knowing the news welcomed him back at the airport quietly, immediately layering him in Mari’s scent for good measures with her jacket. They drove home quietly with Yuuri still sobbing in the way home, barely hushed by Mari’s sympathetic patting on the head. 

Everything that happens next became too compressed and saturated for Yuuri’s mind to comprehend. The entire family hadn’t mentioned about his heat not even once, simply giving him extra suppressants and scent blocking shampoo supposedly for omega guests. Hiroko specially made digestible herbs to soothe his omega systems, and Mari gave him massages everyday. Any purchase made that was related to omega care is made as discreet as possible through trusted connections. It reminds him of the time where his school arranged a visit to an old folks home, where everyone treated the elderly gingerly like they would break anytime soon, but instead he is one of them now. And he hated it. 

Amidst the confusing mix of gratitude and anger lay terror that more people knew and cared about him. Deep down he knew all the people his parents had trusted are sincerely eager to help and keep the secret, but his anxiety had kept suggesting him otherwise, promising him that one day he would wake up to a world that knows that legendary skater Viktor’s rival is a lowly omega, and everything would start shattering to pieces then. 

 

*

 

Him and Tamara face the front of the glass doors of the National Omega Organisation of Japan’s administration lobby. The interior design is anything but cheap, with sparkling marbles gleaming from the tiles up the pillars that blossom into a ceiling, decorated simply by a small chandelier that sparkle lightly. Across the two of them the ever familiar emblem of Yuuri’s secondary gender hangs just under the chandelier, dominating nearly half the height of the monstrous walls. He had seen it countless times in textbooks and TV advertisements; the familiar omega symbol laced by vines and flowers held by two pigeons. He knew the representation by heart; peaceful, humble and everything else Yuuri doesn’t want to be. 

They advance towards the counter, where a woman with blonde highlights look up. 

“I would like to register an athlete as an omega.” Tamara says. Yuuri winces to the side, preparing for any signs of disgust. 

Instead the woman replies with a polite smile as she gets up. “Of course. Come with me.” 

They follow the woman as she walks towards an area with table and chairs scattered around, settling them down on one them with a firm pat on the white surface before going to the side of the room to draw out a piece of paper. Yuuri sat down cautiously, watching as she slid the paper— his enrolment form to be forever acknowledged as an omega — onto the table, and clicked the tip of her pen out. 

“Would you like me to fill it up for you, or would you want to fill it up yourself?” 

Yuuri almost lunged across the table to snatch the pen, but Tamara stops him short. “We’ll say the details, please. I’m not very familiar with the rules.” She said calmly. Yuuri gave her an incredulous stare, but there wasn’t anything he could do. Omegas are the most delicate humans out of the entire population and enrolments are as tacky as their preparations for everything, sensitive to absolutely everything. They—he—was basically a baby viewed in gentle pity in the society.

“Very well.” The woman shifts the paper nearer to herself and starts writing. “Name?” 

“Katsuki Yuuri.” Tamara says. 

The woman raise her eyebrows in recognition, but said nothing else. Yuuri knits his fingers tighter. Another person who knows he’s an omega now. 

“Place of residence?” 

“Hasetsu, Kyushu, Saga Prefacture.”

She continues scribbling. “IC number?” 

Then it goes on and on. The general topics of the questions turn more and more specific, like his allergies, former love interests, sexual activity. As questions and answers flick back and forth and more and more of his information, his own self spins from his now ever crumbling ego. The urge to tell Tamara to stop telling everything becomes more and more tempting, as if if anything more comes out of her mouth everything he would ever own would be gone and he would just be there naked and empty. 

The woman flips to a new page, and her attention turns to Tamara. “You’re his coach, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright, can I have your name?” 

“Tamara Yap Shi Ling.” 

“Secondary gender?” 

“Alpha.” 

Her fingers stops there. The blonde looks at them apologetically.

“I’m sorry, but according to the International Omega Protection Laws only omegas and betas can become an omega’s coach.” 

Yuuri’s blood freezes. Everything tunes out of his vision, except for his coach who stares at the woman, dumbfounded. 

That… that means… 

He sees Tamara’s fingers curling. 

“Why?” Her voice is as cold and as sharp as newly formed icicles. Protective, strong, a voice that suddenly seemed very temporary in his life.   

“As much as the Alpha would pledge to abstain him or herself from an omega, it cannot be guaranteed what would happen whenever said omega would go into heat. Many people have tried, all have failed.” The woman chanted like she had repeated this many times. 

“Bullshit,” Tamara whispers, so faint that Yuuri barely catches it. He would’ve gasped in surprised at his coach swearing for the first since since meeting him if it isn’t for this situation, when their relationship was hung in such a fragile balance now. “There are pheromone resistance tests all over the world that allows an alpha a Guardian permit for an omega.” 

“In Japan citizenship laws we don’t apply it.” The woman replies easily. “If your student has another more powerful citizenship or passport to override our laws, however, that is possible.” 

They kept quiet, because they both know he didn’t. He was born and bred for all of his life  within the country without a single international trip until the last two years due to the financial issues his parents had, but that was hardly a problem. He always loved the beauties of his country and culture that had blessed his childhood, the beautiful cherry blossoms and the festivals, until he participated in competitive figure skating. Even then a little piece of Japan would follow him to every international skating competition to cheer him on. The notion that someone would be willing to spend so much money just to see someone from their country perform had made his heart float to infinite heights and left him incredibly grateful, at times even rivalling his hate for Viktor. 

He tries to register the fact along with the perfectly reasonable answers the woman had given, but he still couldn’t help but feel betrayed by something big he had fought for for so long. 

He looks at his coach, hoping to see the fire of fight in her eyes again, hoping that she would come up with another loophole that could somehow avoid whatever that would happen next. 

She stays silent for a while before she speaks. 

“So if I can’t be the coach, who’s going to sign this up?” 

“We can leave this blank until he finds a suitable coach who’s willing to take him up. Meanwhile he will enrol as a civilian omega.” The blonde says, and takes the papers from their sight. “In that case, then that should be it for your part of the administration. Any last requests you have?” 

It felt ironic, that he had heard that phrase many times in films he watched when he was young where the villain spits something like that and the heroes would honourably and stubbornly shut up because they didn’t need anything dumb fulfilled from the person who’s trying to kill them. But now the villain is the law, and Yuuri is desperate, so desperate. 

He had gathered so much out of his hard work for the two years; determination, grit, faith, and finally, respect. The voices in his head had dimmed, new friends were made through Chris, and he had rattled the hierarchy in the figure skating history built by Viktor. Things had finally seemed to turn in his favour and he was only starting to hope for more than he dared. And now, just when he had the slightest thought that he could pick up the pieces and start again, Tamara—sweet, honourable Tamara who had been his loving mother when he missed home, who had been supporting him ever since he started going professional—is leaving him too. 

He’s surprised he’s still composed now. 

 _Don’t put me up with the rest of the omegas,_ he wants to beg, _Don’t let them acknowledge me. I already have nothing._

Instead he keeps his mouth shut. 

The blonde gives the papers one last pat before giving them a tight smile. “If there’s nothing else, your official enrolment is done. We’ll be putting your name in the database shortly after and issue you your omega identity card in a few days. Would you like to head to the medical department to get your suppressants and protector?” 

There was a long while before Tamara sighs. 

“Yes please. Please show us the way.” 

The two women got up at the same time, but Yuuri stays planted in his seat. He stays there, hoping that maybe if he never moved time wouldn’t either, and his life would just freeze there without anything else getting hurt, without any of his hopes getting cruelly destroyed by the life that powers it. Then Tamara nudges him, warm and soft and as temporary as the remains of his hopes, and he starts leaping off the seat and onto the ground. They follow her back into the lobby, and into the hallway across the area they were conversing in. 

The woman gestured them the signboards for the different departments and left with a quick bow, leaving him with Tamara alone in the empty corridor. She opens her mouth to say something, but Yuuri is quicker. 

“Can’t you train me privately? Like, without telling anyone else that you’re my coach?” He says in hope, just for one last time. 

She looks back him and sighs again. “It doesn’t work like that, Yuuri. There has to be someone official to be your coach in order for you retain your status as a professional skater. Having another coach to cover me would suffice, but they have to be the one who send the reports of your progress. Then when it comes to competitions…” She raises a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “It would be really complicated to maintain, Yuuri. I’m really sorry. But I’ll find a better coach for you, I promise.” 

Before he could reply Tamara wraps him in a tight hug, and soon Yuuri feels his shoulder dampening in his coach’s tears. 

_Oh._

The lump in his throat grows into an ache, and he starts crying too. 

Tamara had carried a big part of Yuuri that he had trusted her with ever since he started dedicating his life to the ice, and she had taken care of it so beautifully and willingly there can’t possibly be a _better_ alternative. To imagine someone else cradling him while he cries in the dark, to calm him down when he had panic attacks sounded absolutely ridiculous and stupid. 

And what if said person doesn’t want to coach him? What if nobody wants to coach him? He’s a lowly omega after all, and the risk in him failing as an athlete is too high for international standards. Does that mean he can’t have a coach anymore? Would this mean the end of his figure skating career? 

Somethings settles on his chest, heavy enough to pull him down into the ever-familiar spiral of his doubts. 

Maybe  this is his life now. Maybe he is born to be at the bottom of everything, to live off misery whilst he can only watch as Viktor retains his position at the top of world, laughing mockingly at him with all the pride and splendour of an alpha. 

 

*

 

He visits the Ice Castle the evening after the registration, not very sure how to break the news to his friends. Hiroko had been telling him that Yuuko had been worried sick about the news and had been completely unsuspecting to the fact that he is an omega. He had kept his journey back a secret and no one had knew his arrival back in Japan except for his family, not even the Nishigori family. He had thought about keeping his secondary gender a secret from her a few times, but dismissed the idea quickly. With the inevitable heat cycles the redhead would figure it out slowly. 

Besides, Yuuko had been loyally supporting him for as long as he knew her. She deserves to know, painful truth or not. 

When he passes the glass door his friend had literally on top of the reception desk to wrap around him in a hug, and his confidence he had gotten for reciting the words he wants to tell Yuuko flees like dust. 

“Oh my god, Yuuri!” The redhead shrieks, pulling back to give him teary eyes. “I saw the news! I’ve been so worried about you! Where were you for a week? What health condition are you in? Is it flu? Is it cancer?” She spills guess after guess, not even close to what actually happened, having so much faith that Yuuri could never be _that_. They never really talk about secondary genders, always getting swept up by the current of skating events and religiously following whatever Viktor Nikiforov does, enemy or not. He never realised how important her opinion is about the most inferior gender in the society until now.  

There’s only one way he can know. 

“How is Tamara? She hasn’t contacted me too, and oh my god—“

“Yuuko,” He says, gripping his fists tightly. “I’m an omega.”

Silence. Yuuko steps back in shock, looking unsure of what she just heard.

“What?” Her voice is empty. A little more of him cracks. He musters more courage, and blurts again, “I’m an omega.” 

As his fears predicted, horror twists around the girl’s features. She quickly composes herself and tells him that there is nothing he should be worried of, that he is still able to skate like normal if he used suppressants. 

It’s not quite the answer Yuuri had feared, but it isn’t exactly enough to pump him back into spirits like she had done two years ago. Deep inside he scolds himself for even having expectations on his friend’s reply. They had been distant for so many months, after all. He couldn’t possibly expect her to bring her honest side to him. He’s not her boyfriend, and he won’t ever be if he continues to chase after Viktor.

Minako, on the other hand, had taken the news with nothing but alcohol. Ever since the encounter with the omega in heat she had shut up about anything that was related to the secondary gender, and now that her prized student is one of them it was very obvious on her expression that it was hard to take in. She acted awkwardly around Yuuri for the entire practice session like it was the first time meeting him again before practically wrapping his entire being around her trench coat as she walks him back and drowned herself in bottles of sake the moment she set foot onto the onsen. 

Yuuri had nightmares that night then, terrified that Minako would wake up in the guest room for the nth time with a hangover and a decree to disown him as a student. It seems perfectly plausible as well, seeing how cruel his life is now. 

She didn’t. 

 

*

 

The next day he receives two letters from the International Omega Protection Organisation. The first one is a stern reminder for him to find a new coach within an agonisingly short deadline, else lose his status as a professional skater via retirement. Tamara says she already found a willing beta coach from Detroit who would be visiting him soon, but Yuuri didn’t show any signs of relief, and neither did the Chinese. 

The other is a small package containing his omega identity card. He spends the whole afternoon on his bed looking at it, examining the edges and the design like he did for his gold medal. The size of the card is just like any other, its pink surface gleaming on both sides as he tilts it in the sunlight, his general information written in white carved beside an awkwardly smiling portrait of him. At the back of the card long, winding instructions are imprinted in black letters, describing basic procedures for person to find it while said omega is in heat. 

In absolutely no surprise he finds himself comparing with Viktor once more. The Russian definitely would’ve taken note of his disappearance for the free skate, especially after he had assured that the hate Yuuri had bored for him was finally reciprocated during the moment at the podium. Was he curious about his disappearance? Had he bothered to ask his coach, or did he keep his question to himself? Did he even care in the first place? 

He doesn’t let himself answer any of it, feeling himself blushing from embarrassment. It’s ludicrous that he even thinks about him to that extent first place, and even if his guesses are right it doesn’t change anything about their relationships. They’re rivals now, something Yuuri had been dreaming from the start and perfectly content with. What he should worry about is emerging superior from it. 

And if Viktor knows that he’s an omega… 

He closes his eyes, as if the sudden darkness in his vision can solve the problem. He couldn't make that an option. He just finally gained an upper hand and grudging respect from him, he can’t afford to let the Russian look down at him once more. 

That is, if he can even continue going to the same competitions as he does. 

 

*

 

That evening him and Tamara go to the hospital for the medical registration. He had kindly rejected his mother’s offer to chaperone him, wanting to relish in the last moments with his coach before she packs up and resumes her life as a retired skater. 

They arrive at the reception and confirmed their appointment before proceeding to wait in silence, with Yuuri’s head against her arm and Tamara stroking his hair softly. 

Across the room a man in his mid-forties in a white coat pops out of a doorway with a friendly smile.

“Yuuri Katsuki?” 

The Chinese pats her student’s head, a reminder that he still had more hell to go through. He reluctantly rises from his seat and makes his way across the lobby, following the man into a bright looking room with animal stickers everywhere on the walls. There are only two chairs and a desk in the room, and he sits on the one beside the desk. The man proceeds to sit on the leather one in front of the desk and crosses his fingers. 

“Good morning, Yuuri.” The man says cheerfully. “I’m Doctor Akira. I’m here to collect some data about your omega biology and distribute the necessary accessories an omega need for their everyday life.” He draws out a fresh piece of paper and a pen. “Now, you’ve experienced your presentation heat, no?” 

Yuuri shuffles in his seat, awkwardly nodding. The man nods in acknowledgement and starts writing. 

“Can you tell me how long was it?” 

He thinks of the agonising time stretches, the moans and wails that he would never want to claim was his. “A week.” He answers quietly. 

“That’s quite short. Do you recall any periods of time where you had your thoughts collected?” 

“Yes.” 

“How long were they?” 

He recalls the glowing red digital clock by one of the walls wall of the omega care room, flashing out the minutes that pass that inch and pass through the time he was supposed to be performing on the ice in front of thousands of people instead of rutting like an animal. His jaw clenched. “About twenty minutes. Sometimes less.”  

“Mm. Anything else that you noted during your heat?”

“No,” Yuuri replies automatically. Not that he wanted to notice anything else. 

Doctor Akira sets his pen down. “Alright, then now I’ll just have to measure the size of your scent gland for your protector.” He gets up and grabs a measuring tape, requesting Yuuri to look down. The cold feel of metal hisses as it wraps around the back half of his neck, causing shivers to glide down his spine. 

“You have quite a small neck,” The man suddenly mutters, and the tape leaves Yuuri’s skin.

Silence is heavy in the room as the man compares the measurement in the ruler into his notes. He looks up and shares an eye contact with Yuuri, but instead of polite kindness he sees scars. 

“How are you coping with your omega self so far?” 

Yuuri doesn’t reply, but judging from the sad smile Doctor Akira is giving he probably can see an answer in his eyes. The man walks back to sit across him, propping his elbows against the desk and presses his chin against his hand. 

“I know you’re really not feeling it right now, but I have a bit of advice for you to start off.” He offers kindly. “Do you want to hear it?” 

The boy stays quiet. He’s right, he really isn’t feeling it right now. But then again, he really isn’t feeling anything, because the world doesn’t seem to want him to be happy.  He gives the man a small nod, and the doctor clears his throat. 

“You’ve heard of the tale of Ronald Steward, haven’t you?” 

Yuuri’s mouth opens slightly in recognition. 

Of course he knew about Ronald Steward. He was a famous American rugby player and later known as the first modern Olympian athlete to publicly present himself as an unmated omega. Ever since then his golden reputation was quickly stained by criticisms from all across the world, ultimately raped by someone and ending his career by suicide. He was the start of the notion that omegas are unfit for the world of sports and the many more early retirements that happened within the omega athletes after. 

“He was my first athlete patient.” The man confesses sadly. “I was around twenty five at the time, when he was in this very room. He wasn’t scared or trembling like you were. In fact he had been confident that he could be as good as the rest of the alphas. We had monthly check ups, and he would tell me about his life, about what truly drives him. I could see the fire in his eyes; infectious and powerful. I thought the society had absolutely no effect on him.” He says wistfully. “I was wrong.” 

“As the criticisms got harsher and harsher our sessions grew quieter. He lost most of his sponsors, changed coaches countless times. Not because nobody wanted him, but because he had been terrified of letting them down because of his biology, because he actually believed that whatever crap the society said about the omegas being weak is true.”  

“Look, Yuuri, I’m no psychologist, but there’s something else that I always see in the athletes when they do their first omega medical registry.” 

Yuuri turns to him, his eyes now glowing in hungry curiosity. 

“They’re really scared. Just like you, Yuuri. Even though their secondary genders are classified they still get so terrified that they’ll just be like Ronald, they forget what actually made them press this high into the sports world. They’re careful around them and never made any careless mistakes that caused potential alpha assault, but they’re still warped under that illusion that they’ll eventually end up like the omegas the society had stereotyped. It’s a chain reaction; they lose faith in themselves which in turn causes the next to lose faith. What started as emotions became statistics. They get so caught up with the fact that they’ll never make it into the best that they forget how they are already the best, and being an omega would hardly change that. I’m an omega myself, and I graduated from the University of Tokyo with first class honours in a medical degree and respect from every single one of my lecturers. Sure, there’ll be an extra heat here and there in your schedule, but when you grow old enough you can take the permanent omega suppressant and everything would be smooth sailing.” 

The Japanese’s heart leaps at the mention of ‘permanent suppressant’. “Wait, I would never have to experience heats ever again?” 

“Well, technically you would have to inject the renewal serum every five years, but yes, that’s the case.” He flashes him a sad smile. “Not a lot of people manage to get that far after presenting after their careers, however.” 

Something washes over the boy as he drinks in the doctor’s words, but the man isn’t done yet. “You’re one of the best and promising athletes in the world out there, you know that? I don’t really watch sports because of my work, but you made figure skating an exception. What I see when you perform on the ice is something that’s not worth wasting. Especially with your rivalry with that Russian boy now, things are certainly starting to become more interesting. Viktor Nikisomething… Nikiforum? Was that his name?” 

Yuuri flushes instinctively. For all of his skating career he had always been involved with people who were familiar with skating completely, and naturally ‘Viktor Nikiforov’ is a name every figure skater knew by heart. Hearing someone who pronounced his name like he was barely significant made him guiltily happy. “How did you know?” 

The man throws himself back in laughter, thunder booming from his chest. “It was so obvious at the medal ceremony! You two were glaring at each other like you were going to rip each other apart right there on the spot! It’s all over the news!” 

Yuuri stares at him in disbelief, and his laughter simmers. 

“Look, what I’m trying to say is, it’s not the end yet. And I can assure you for the length of studying and nursing omegas there are no changes to your body that prevents you from being an athlete. Keep remembering what drives you forward, and stick to it no matter what they say. Don’t ever let your talents go to waste just because of what makes you different.” 

He is staring at Yuuri in dead seriousness now, and the boy really didn’t know what to make out of it. 

What drives him forward? What is the reason he’s been working so hard to be part of the ice? He knows this answer all too well, an answer he repeats to himself single day. 

 

*

 

Yuuri’s future coach comes two days after. 

He thinks about his meeting with Doctor Akira more and more now. When Tamara had opened the door to his bedroom and told him to go downstairs to meet him, he finally feels confident enough for a change. He still isn’t exactly convinced that it isn’t the end yet, but he is willing to try. There isn’t anywhere else he could or want to go anyway. He had dug his fingers into the world of skating in too deep, his memories of standing in the top of the podium and his hatred for Viktor sealing his fate there.

Best of all is the fact that he only had to wait for two more years before he could seal off his omega biology with permanent suppressants the doctor had mentioned. He had researched further about it and was blessed with the results that matched his dreams. It is surprisingly affordable and the five year renewal session barely seemed like a problem compared to the fact that he wouldn’t have to suffer as an omega for the rest of his life. He just had to hold on further and pray that nothing happens in the period between. 

He sprints down the stairs, heart in throat. The Chinese waits for him at the entrance of the common room, a sad look on her face. The boy hugs her tight for the last few times, masquerading their sorrow with welcoming smiles before entering the room. 

A man looking roughly around the same age as Tamara greets them with a smile, filling the area with the mild scent of a beta. His earl grey eyes glints in enthused youth and a lush explosion of hair sprouted from his dark skin, curling down halfway of his back. He stands up, unleashing a monstrous height that Yuuri had to stumble back to maintain his eye contact. 

“You must be Katsuki Yuuri.” He says, an accented voice as deep as the seven seas. A hand nearly a quarter bigger than his own reaches to him, and he barely shakes it. “My name is Celestino Cialdini, good to finally meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Cialdini.” Yuuri greets politely, still slightly intimidated. 

“So you’re the one who had finally made competitive ice skating interesting, huh?” A grin tears through the man’s lips as he lets out a short string of laughter. “When Tamara called me about the newest prodigy skater needing a new trainer I simply couldn’t resist.” 

“He has a skating facility in America,” Tamara explains. “He’s been training junior and senior skaters for many years now. We’ve been fellow skaters under the same coach, and I trust his method of teaching very much.” 

Celestino nods. “Many of my students have reached international standards and have entered the Grand Prix Finals before. Even though you’re an omega I’m sure with your talent and constant improvement you would have no problem maintaining your status at the top of the league. I can definitely help you with that.” 

Yuuri frowns. “That means I need to move to America?” 

“Yes. Don’t worry, as long as you stay on top of the game we will pay for your expenses.” Celestino smiles encouragingly, but the words went in and out of Yuuri’s ears in shock. 

His worry must’ve been exposed on his face, because the Beta quickly brings up his hands. “Of course, if you can’t come, you don’t have to. Tamara can always find another coach for you.” 

Yuuri looks at Tamara for help, but she only gives him a scolding look. “He’s a very good teacher, Yuuri. It’s hard for me to find another quality coach who’s wiling to take in another candidate, and the deadline for the coach registration is very soon. If you really can’t go to America then we’ll have to go for desperate choices.” 

The boy takes in the advice thoroughly, feeling the friction of the dilemma sparking a headache. Desperate choices meant that they would have to settle with a lower quality coach, which may affect his future performance on ice permanently. It’s obviously a stupid idea to go with that when a more promising alternative stands before him, but it meant leaving everything he had ever known behind.

He is ready for the change in his life, but he isn’t expecting something this big. Especially now when he needed support from the people around him to get back on his feet. He can’t imagine a life outside lovely, quiet Hasetsu, outside Japan, far far away when even the time zones would split him from home further away. 

On the other hand Tamara is right. Time is limited. If he wants to continue being in the world of ice, to have the revenge he had always wanted, he’d have to make hard choices. He can’t possibly stay cooped up in his own comfort zone when Viktor Nikiforov is out there dominating the world Yuuri loved. As much as he would hate to admit the Russian did give his everything into the ice, and he himself should as well. 

Swallowing a deep breath, the boy says the words before he starts regretting them,

“Okay. I’ll go.” 

 

*

 

Yuuri stands alongside Celestino under the lights of the pedestrian lamp, feeling his cheeks burning under the layer of frozen tears. 

He didn’t think he could manage to leave Japan’s airport. His entire family had been there to send him away along with Minako, Yuuko, Takeshi and Tamara. He recalled their teary faces as he hugged each and every one of them, realising it would be the last time he would be able to feel them for a very long time. He starts crying along, not stopping until Japan finally disappeared from his sight and he arrived in wild, new Detroit. Where everything is too noisy, too big, too ecstatic for him. 

Their ride finally comes and his new coach helps loads his luggage onto the car. They make their way soundlessly through the roads of the city, with Yuuri watching as the lights whiz past his vision in strings of colours. Celestino did attempt to fill in the silence by peppering him with random questions, but he didn’t really listen, his bland answers turning into barely noticeable nods as he drowns himself into the view beyond the window in attempt to fill the fresh and aching hole in his heart. 

They finally arrive at the facility hostel at the strike of midnight. The Italian gives him two keys; one for his regular residence, the other his heat room, and a pat on the back before leaving him in silence to find his dorm room. He shuffles up the stairs as he dragged his bulky luggage behind towards the more discreet part of the hallway, eager to check out his omega room first. As long as he's regular on his suppressants he wouldn't have to experience anymore horrible heat waves, but there is always the 'just in case' plan, and he plans to be as familiar as he could with the route to his sanctuary if he ever gets back into heat.

As he makes his way through the omega facility the feeling of being daunted starts blossoming within him. Aside from the scent layering aroma around there isn't a lot of other technology that the hostel seems to have for the omegas. The whole place looked frayed with age with absolutely no maintenance, the interior design wearing off from neglect and the furniture around rotting. He isn't surprised, at all. They probably didn't see the possibility of an omega being able to come to such a prestigious place. 

Still, he couldn't help but feel angry at the fact over that assumption that so many people, including himself, had. 

The room he is given isn't too shabby. It is far smaller than the omega care room in the hotel, with only a thin-looking mattress that looked more like a carpet and a tiny window to tell the time outside. He gives the room a quick scan and quickly closes the door, scampering to his actual dormitory room before the room's inside could haunt him in his dreams. He fumbles a bit with his keys, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves before stepping in. 

Compared to his heat room this is much spacious, with  double decker bed resting in the corner and two study tables across it, which one half of them are completely spotless. The other half is a complete chaos of messy bedsheets and scattered pieces of papers, the walls laden with posters of...

...him?

Yuuri stares, recognising the familiar picture of his plastic smile for the press. 

“Hello!” 

He turns around. A young boy with sun kissed skin and a bright smile greets him, his black hair dripping in water and a towel around his neck. 

“You’re Yuuri Katsuki, aren’t you?” He beams, the awe in his eyes glowing brighter and brighter. 

The Japanese boy nods, unsure how to react. “Y-yeah.”

The other boy gasps. “Oh my god! I’m such a big fan of you! And we’re going to be roommates!” Yuuri watches as the boy throws himself onto his bed, muffling his screams into his pillow. Yuuri blushes himself, still flustered at the fact that people actually look up to him more than they do to Viktor. 

The boy looks up from his bed and places his hand against his chest to take a deep breath before turning back to him in a slightly more composed look. 

“Sorry for that and the posters around you,” He says sheepishly. “My name’s Phichit, and I’m from Thailand. I’m doing my junior debut next season. I really hope we can be good friends in the future!” 

Yuuri smiles unconsciously, reaching out to unpack his luggage. “Yeah, me too.” He says softly. 

 

*

 

They became _really_ good friends. 

Turns out Phichit, a beta, had been in Detroit ever since he was eight, which made exploring and familiarising with the place much, much easier with the Thai’s experience and knowledge. The cities are still as loud and intimidating as ever, but after a few days of cruising through the same streets with slowly familiarised people everything, the rampaging strangeness of Detroit had slowly tamed. Together they found shortcuts around favourite restaurants and quiet spots away from the bustling life of the city where they could sit and relax, reminding Yuuri painfully of Hasetsu. 

As Tamara had promised, Celestino is an exceptional coach. After his comfortable history of having an entire person's time and attention towards him he had initially feared that Celestino wouldn't care as much, but they were quickly dismissed when he constantly peppers him with crisp and direct advice that made his skills improve tremendously, impressively doing so as he rotates from skater to skater over the span of a day. The drills he gives are harder than what Tamara would’ve ever distributed and he even encouraged him to practice quads. The sessions are so gruelling Yuuri didn't have to ask for extra practice like he does back in Japan, and he is perfectly happy with that. 

Unlike him and his former coach however, he didn’t share an intimate parent-son relationship with the Italian. They had been on strictly professional terms for as long as Yuuri can remember, even when they’re going out the most the man does is offer bits of advice on how to go about the outside world and a splatter of bad jokes. Fortunately Yuuri had found his source of comfort from the friendly community of skaters around him, especially Phichit. 

Yuuri initially thought the Thai would be the kind that is too much, with his energy and vigour that seemed to drape over the room and invade his thoughts. But once again he was surprised to find him as kind and patient as he is enthusiastic, always catering to his needs even if the Japanese doesn’t say anything. From time to time when Yuuri grew too homesick he would be there to lend a shoulder for him to cry on and brightened his days by theatrically interpreting stories of his moments with Celestino (alternatively dubbed as Ciao Ciao by him). 

He introduces new things for Yuuri to distract himself from at the right times; even buying pet hamsters for both of them to take care of in order to take things off his mind although Phichit is still the one mostly hogging them. When they weren’t training or caring for their pets they would sit on the bed talk about different things; about Detroit, Hasetsu, Bangkok, their lives before and after skating. In return Yuuri would tell him about the international events that Phichit keep gushing about, regretting that he hadn’t enjoyed his Grand Prix with his fellow competitors more so he could describe more of it. 

Slowly Yuuri brings himself to open up to the Thai, telling him about everyone he had known(which isn’t many) except for his thoughts about Viktor. If Phichit had seen the news he probably would’ve seen him and the Russian glaring at each other and take the hint, but if he hadn’t he had no intentions to expose his dark, swirling well of hatred he had bottled within for two years. Maybe in the future when the younger boy finally matures of age he would mention it, but for now he would prefer to preserve the innocence in his friend’s laughter. 

The best part of it all was the fact that he took Yuuri’s secondary gender casually. H didn’t really need to tell him that he was an omega, given with all the hints of the scent blocking shampoo in the showers and the suppressants that was scattered carelessly around the room. The fact that his roommate is barely bothered by the fact that he is an omega gave him a boost of confidence, causing him to mix better with the rest of his rink mates, but he still stayed close only to Phichit. 

His friend had even made his preparations every morning easier; placing his suppressants in obvious corners and buying necessary care kits for him, allowing the Japanese to be able to let go of the protector every night. It had been around his neck for as long as he could remember after getting it from the clinic, only ever off for showers. He had complained to himself about the stuffiness that it offered, but had been too worried in any possible form of alpha assault to peel it off. It took his friend weeks to convince him that as long as he is on his suppressants no one would know, and since then life as an omega didn’t seem so bad anymore. 

The only time he has mentioned it was in a form of a question, whether this new piece of Yuuri Katsuki is a secret. 

And Yuuri had never been so relaxed in saying yes. 

 

_16, 18._

 

He had managed to convince Celestino to bring Phichit along with him for the Worlds, to the Thai’s delight. The Italian man had grumbled for the whole trip that the younger boy had to train for the upcoming qualifying events, but Yuuri knows that the nearest qualifying event is months away and Phichit is far too happy to care about any of that. The boy had been spending most of his time squawking and bombarding Yuuri with so many questions about the big events that he had only witnessed through the screen with the glimmer in his eyes and the thrill in his voice. Even though the Japanese had full faith that his best friend would manage to make it to the Finals soon it felt painful to not let him see his dreams. 

Besides, he couldn't forget how happy he and Yuuko were on his first Grand Prix Junior Finals. 

They spend the first three days looking around Los Angeles, taking plenty of portraits with Phichit's new iPhone that he insists the public called 'selfies'. He spends the nights at the hotel trying to convince Yuuri to buy one as well, saying how it's the 'latest technology' and 'the future', promising him that it would be worth the ridiculous amount of money it was placed for. The Japanese kindly rejected, knowing all too well that he had to give all of the cash from his sponsors to home where it was truly needed. He's perfectly comfortable with his flip Nokia and the simplistic features that had done more than suffice his needs of communication. 

After the three days, however, the nerves started to settle in Yuuri, causing him to harrow in the dark of the hotel room for the next two days. 

It never hit him properly that he still hasn’t quite explained his mysterious withdrawal from last year’s Grand Prix free skate to the public, but it isn’t against law if he doesn’t. It hadn’t exactly ruined his reputation, but it’s very clear that everyone would he holding him in a different eye when he skates. He would have to fulfil their expectations once more, and this time with an effort from a different country and coach that hasn't been validated. Irrational fears plagued him all over, about Viktor smelling his omega scent or suddenly getting his heat midway through performance, causing him to spend his sleepless nights throwing up. 

Phichit had been there by his side the whole time to continuously reassure him, using their inside jokes and stories to keep his anxiety at bay. As time wears on and as much as he had appreciated his friend’s words they started to grow numb against his ear, and he finally decides to release his stress by walking around the hotel. 

It is a cool evening when he steps out of the lobby alone. The stars are in a slow process of chasing the sun into the bed of clouds, leaving midsummer purple at its wake. Across him the cars zooms to and fro, dabbing the air in loud honks and roaring of engines accompanied by the chatter of the people at the pavement beside it, laughing amongst themselves whilst dressed in attires too exposed for this weather. 

He makes his way downtown, drinking in the ever-changing city scenery that he got accustomed to ever since he had moved to Detroit. After going past the familiarity phase he had started to admire the urban jungle that is America now, with its sky scrapers that pierced the sky and the glaring lights that basks his pathway in a wild spectrum as advertisement after advertisement flashes before his eyes. The excessive noise that had been threatening soon turned into a surge of happiness in his ears, a reminder that the city had been alive and moving and always real, like happiness from a friend that starts to infect others. 

He wonders how it would feel if he goes back to Hasetsu now. Would it be too quiet for him? Probably, but he could just enter the onsen and it’ll be bustling and he’ll just spend the entire day catching up with his family, telling them everything about Detroit and Phichit and—

Something lunges at him from behind, the familiar feel of paws against his skin. He turns around, his heart skipping a beat. 

A poodle nearly twice the size of Vicchan and the height of his waist wags its tail at him, its soft brown fur glowing in the last of the sunlight and its eyes showing friendliness. Warmth seeps into Yuuri’s chest and he bends down, offering a hand for the dog. It leans forward and plants a wet kiss on his knuckles. A soft laugh escapes his throat, a light voice that ceased when he notices a red collar dangling loosely from its neck. 

Squinting, he draws a hand towards it and adjusts until he sees a bronze label. A phone number is hastily written under a piece of paper that was shielded with tape, which looks surprisingly new. Whoever who’ve written it must’ve done it recently.  

He looks around, trying to see any searching eyes of someone who lost his dog. Judging by the lack of leash the owner must’ve trusted his poodle very much, but he still can’t be sure whether it’s only cruising around from its owner for a bit or completely lost. He pulls out his cellphone and starts calling the number, his other hand still relishing on the familiar surface of fluff. 

He had enjoyed the days when Vicchan (He really regrets the name) had been close to him, constantly staying by his side in his room and licking his tears away whenever he gets bullied. But ever since his obsession with Viktor as figure of hate he hadn’t had much time to entertain his own family poodle. Mari describes about him occasionally in the phone that he still sleeps on his empty, made bed every night, which made the guilt even worse. He really didn't know how he deserved such a beautifully loyal poodle despite being neglected for so long. 

“Hello?” A voice from his phone shivers through his thoughts. It sounds horribly familiar, but so broken and muffled by the choking of crying Yuuri couldn’t make out a identity from it. 

“H-Hi, I’m calling from the phone number you’ve written on your dog.” The Japanese pauses, and awkwardly adds. “If you don’t own a poodle or anything sorry for bothering.” 

The man on the other side lets out a gasp, a sound so dramatic Yuuri would’ve laughed if he wasn’t crying the second before. “Oh my god, yes I do own a poodle and I just lost it and—“ There is a sound of someone taking a deep, loud breath— “—Thank you so much for finding it! I’m at Readington Street. Where are you right now?” 

“I’m near Hilton Hotel.” Yuuri replies. “Around the corner of a small hot dog store.” 

“Good! You’re near! Please, just whatever you do, just stay there! I’ll come and find you as soon as possible!” Yuuri is slightly taken back from how desperate and commanding the tone sounded, almost as if if his dog goes lost again the entire world would come to an end. But it’s perfectly understandable for some people, especially for this dog. If he was the one who lost him he probably would sound as desperate too.

He scratches the poodle gently, and it yipped in content under his hand. His smile grows wider. 

“Will do.” 

He wanted to add a compliment for his dog for looking so well bred and friendly, but the person only stayed on the line long enough to cramp in one last thanks before hanging up. 

They stay there in affectionate silence as Yuuri continually scratches the unknown poodle’s head, soaking in their own cocoon of comfort. It seems perfectly satisfied with where it is right now, snuggling close to Yuuri's legs with its tongue lolling in pleasure. They watch the city life pass and go in front of them, few of the passerby occasionally eyeing them with perplexed glances, but he doesn't really mind them. He had almost forgotten how nice it is to receive unconditional love from a pet to take him away from the stress of everything else. The perturbation of the competition had completely left him now, leaving him weightless with excitement to see the owner. 

For a few moments he wonders how the man he would be like. He was probably a really nice guy, just like this dog. 

After a few minutes the poodle raised his head and lets out a happy bark, immediately leaving Yuuri’s hand to bound across the streets. A man in open arms stands across them a few healthy meters away for his sanity to digest, his beautiful silver hair a tangled mess and the same facial features that had razed at Yuuri like deathly flames broken into a relieved, teary smile. 

Viktor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next edition: Viktor's POV
> 
> Yessss!!! I'm going to let the storyline progress via alternating their POVs now, if you guys mind. XD *whispers* Nemesia23 hope ur happy now 
> 
> I'll promise the next chapter will be up by next week! In that case, stay tuned! <3  
> Once again, if you ever make anything in relation to my fanfiction, do tell me on [ tumblr](http://sorbete.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcomed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You have no idea how much this means to me! Be sure to drop a comment to make my day! <3 
> 
> You can say hi to me on [sorbette.tumblr.com](sorbette.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> Beautiful [ art](http://viilocitee.tumblr.com/post/156197069193/ive-been-lowkey-in-the-yoi-fandom-but-this-is) by viilocitee 
> 
> Do tell me if you ever make anything! :'D


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